


Educating Mr. Oakley

by thebookhunter



Category: Actor RPF, Unrelated (2007)
Genre: Age Difference, But consensual, F/M, Humour, I'm a sucker for happy endings, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Surprise Angst, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, Well there's a thread there, because dammit tom, but anyway, but he's eager to learn, but not too much of it, delayed gratification, guided masturbation, hiddleston body worship, kinda teacher/student arrangement, like try not falling for this fucker, not so surprise feels, oakley is at a loss, oh sweet bird of youth, really light, sensual languid afternoons, tuscany porn, you know what i mean?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oakley thinks he's god's gift to women. Unfortunately, his looks and his charms write checks his actual prowess can't cover, not when it's an older, more experienced woman he is trying to satisfy.</p><p>He can't have that, of course. He'll give that woman the fuck of her life, if it kills him. He could do with a few tips, though, straight from the horse's mouth. </p><p>And thusly it begins... the education of Mr. Oakley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The other girls I’ve been to bed with… Well, they tell me I’m good at it” said Oakley, still with a hint of arrogance, in spite of the pounding he had just received. This boy’s ego would outlast the clash of the continents.
> 
> “Yes, darling, they’re twenty. At twenty, I didn’t have a clue either. At twenty, if I didn’t come after five minutes when a man was eating me out, I thought the problem was mine. At twenty, I faked orgasms and I talked bollocks to make the boy I had been with feel good about himself. I’m so bloody glad I’m not twenty anymore.”
> 
> Oakley looked mildly shocked. Which was amusing. And on him, very fetching.

She laid in bed, sheets tucked up under her arms, just below her breasts. Next to her, Oakley’s panting was slowing down. He laid on top of the sheets, long as the day is long, golden and magnificent. There was a glint of sweat on his forehead, matting a few curls against his face. What a beautiful bastard. She let out a little sigh. Wasn't it a shame.

“How was it for you?” he asked, rearing his head and turning to look at her, self-satisfied grin on his face.

Her eyes fluttered, her eyebrows raised.

“Er…” She struggled for words. Just lie, woman! Why was it so hard?

He frowned, the little scrunch on his nose simply adorable.

“What?” he was outraged, and a bit panicked. Where were his praises? Where was her swooning over his stamina and prowess?

She bit her lip. “It was fine” she said. “It was great.”

His frown became deeper. Well, she was aware that she sounded quite flat. Before he said anything else, she turned and flicked the light switch off.

All that shines is not gold, she thought to herself.  Lying on her side, she sighed again.

 

*

 

At breakfast she heard him flirt with Clarice and Beata, so charming and cool and smooth. She realised she didn’t feel the pang of jealousy that had been nagging her all these days. Had she looked the same as them, moon-eyed and permanent silly smile plastered on her face, playing with locks of her hair and giggling at all his jokes?

When later that day they left for a drive, and possibly drinks, she happily stayed behind, relishing the quiet. She saw Oakley turning his head for a second before he hid his eyes behind his sunglasses, shirt half unbuttoned, that concavity between his collarbones still alluring. She had been wearing sunglasses herself, and her hat, while lounging by the pool, reading her book under the orange light of the Tuscan sunset. And she had pretended she did not notice his quick glances.

She had not gotten laid in a while. Perhaps it had been too long since she had had only her fantasy to get her going. Perhaps her expectations had been too high. He was only nineteen, for Christ’s sake. She supposed he was not _bad_. Perhaps when she was twenty he would have counted as a good fuck.

Well, she was not twenty anymore. She had more experience, and higher standards, and while delicious and inherently sexy, Oakley fell short of them.

 

Now that she had stopped following those youths up and down the countryside, she found time to read, to take long strolls on the dusty paths with the baking sun on her back, listen to crickets or cicadas or whatever those things were, and contemplate the nature of punishment in ancient greek mythology. Because if that wasn’t like the torment of Tantalus, she didn’t know what it was. Wasn’t Oakley like a ripe, plump, juicy fruit dangling just out of reach, and didn’t it sort of turn to ash in her mouth when she had managed to reach it?… Sort of.

She did miss the buzz he had put in her belly, that flutter of bees and butterflies under her skin whenever he spared her a look, or a word, or a smile, and she had to admit she had enjoyed that dance on the edge of a knife, the “was he or wasn’t he” that had kept her up a few nights, and made a little adventure out of her days, laden with suspense and mystery and drama and a good deal of comedy. He had made her feel alive, and she was grateful for it. She had forgotten to be careful what she wished for.

She guessed she was back in Certain Age Land, none of this high-school corridor vaudeville, with all its cat and mouse and hide and seek shenanigans. Perhaps she was getting too old for games after all. It was a sad thought. Men her age might not be as playful, cocky, arrogant and maddeningly sexy, but then again, they might have a better idea what to do with her when it was the time of truth.

 

The problem was, it wasn’t really over and done with. Oakley might not be talking to her, but he was definitely not ignoring her either. What had been passing, nonchalant glances and easy smiles before, well, before The Romp, had graduated to insistent, fixed stares, that persisted even after she had caught him at it, given him a little, polite smile, and looked away. It was getting a bit unsettling.

 

Every time they bumped into each other, she thought he was going to say something, but stopped himself at the last second. On the fourth day, before dinner, after having spoken a total of seven words up to that point, they met in a corridor. She smiled, tight-lipped, and made to walk around him.

“What exactly was wrong about it?” said Oakley as she was passing him by.

Her eyes went wide with surprise, and she gaped with an acute lack of something to say.

“Seriously, what?” he insisted. “You came, didn’t you?”

She was really at a loss for what to answer. She had been brought up, after all, under rules to the tune of 'if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.'

“It was fine, Oakley” she said. “I mean it.”

She didn’t. It showed. He looked puzzled for an instant, and so young. What the hell had  you been thinking of, woman?

“I’ve had lots of sex” he declared, emphasis on the _lots_ , “and I’ve never had any complains.”

No refunds or devolutions.

“Of course not, dear” she said. She stopped herself at patting his forearm, because she was old enough to be at least her aunt, but she definitely wasn’t.

She walked away, biting a smirk. That grumpy frown of his. The Apollo of the Scrunched Nose, she said to herself, and giggled.

 

A couple of days later, they were all on a picnic in an olive grove. There was an old, ramshackle shelter, fashioned with a repurposed ship sail, hung between two olive trees and a stake on the ground. They ate cheese, bread, olives and figs, and chatted and sang songs, and somebody broke into poetry.

Oakley sat opposite her, shirt hanging half-open, lean and tanned and lovely. She glanced at him every now and then, drawn to the glow of his skin, infused with golden light. He had given her so little chance to taste him and enjoy him that night. And it had been too dark to appreciate every freckle and every mark. It was a crying shame.

They had picked up the picnic things and were making their way back to the cars in a long, dusty snake. She closed the march, just because it was in her mood to keep her distance. She saw him lagging behind, until she caught up with him.

“What exactly did you not like?” said Oakley.

She huffed and muttered “Oh for god’s sake.”

He counted on his fingers. “There was foreplay, and oral, and personally I thought the kissing was good, you came…”

“You’re not going to drop it, are you.”

“No.” The spoiled brat. “I just think it’s unfair that you won’t tell me.”

She sighed. “Alright, Oakley, you asked for it.” Now _she_ counted on her fingers. “It was rushed, mechanic, there was no sensuality there, you seem to be aware of only two erogenous zones in the female body, and one in the male, there was no passion, no humour, no spontaneity. It was rather more like gymnastics than making love. It’s as if you had a choreography and you were determined to follow through with it, whether I liked it or not. You were not looking at my reactions or paying attention at all to me. Not to my pussy, to _me_. You were fixated on reaching orgasm, and bugger everything else in between. And for the love of god, Oakley, your sex talk. Please, please, please stop using porn movies as a guide. It’s bloody embarrassing.”

He gaped, his eyebrows took a sad lilt, his mouth curved downwards. He looked ten years old, and desolate. She wanted to cuddle him.

“Well, you did ask” she said. Harrumph. Have I been too harsh there.

They walked for a couple of minutes in strained silence. The crickets were bloody loud. Were they even crickets.

“The other girls I’ve been to bed with… Well, they tell me I’m good at it” said Oakley, still with a hint of arrogance, in spite of the pounding he had just received. This boy’s ego would outlast the clash of the continents.

“Yes, darling, they’re twenty. At twenty, I didn’t have a clue either. At twenty, if I didn’t come after five minutes when a man was eating me out, I thought the problem was mine. At twenty, I faked orgasms and I talked bollocks to make the boy I had been with feel good about himself. I’m so bloody glad I’m not twenty anymore.”

Oakley looked mildly shocked. Which was amusing. And on him, very fetching.

They walked the rest of the way without another word.

 

*

 

She was enjoying the shade under the porch, the low light of late afternoon sneaking in under the tiled roof, a fragrant breeze taking the heaviness of the suffocating summer heat off her, as if it was a thick veil, when he turned up, fidgety, visibly riling himself up to talk. She watched and waited, a low undercurrent of alarm setting in. What now, by Jove.

“I can do better than that” announced Oakley all of a sudden, clenching his jaw, trying to appear, well, composed and not as nervous as he was.

“I don’t doubt it, sweetie” she said, not really sure what he wanted from her.

“No, really, I can” he insisted, fists tight by his sides.

“I’m sure you can” she nodded. And she almost patted his arm again.

“I’ll prove it to you” he declared.

She raised her sunglasses up to her forehead to look him straight in the eye. “You’ll prove it to me how, exactly?”

“Let’s fuck again” he said.

She arched her eyebrows, and if her jaw was not hanging open yet, in a second it would.

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s fuck again. I’ll prove that I can do a lot better. It wasn’t my best shot.”

She huffed in dismay. Just a kid, remember, just a kid.

“Oakley, darling…” Grappling for words. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

His turn to be speechless. It didn’t last long though.

“Why not?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Because… because I’m not interested” she said.

“Why not?” he repeated.

“For Christ’s sake Oakley. Because… because I have already had you, and it wasn’t very good, that’s why.”

Now she said it. His eyes, dear me, like she had just kicked a duckling.

He recovered. He squared his jaw, raised his chin -those rosy cheeks still plump and round with youth.

“I want another chance” he said.

She couldn’t verily believe her ears. Now her jaw hung slack. Compose yourself, woman.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she said, “Well, that’s too bad. Because I’m. Not. Interested.”

His clenched jaw made him look about as fierce as a wolf cub. He sat down on the lounging chair next to him, right on the edge of it, and stared at her with glinting, focused eyes.

“What do I have to do?” he said.

“What?”

“To get another chance.”

“Oh, will you just leave it alone, Oakley.”

“No, seriously. What.”

“Oh gee, I don’t know” she said, sarcastic. “Perhaps, make me want it?”

“Make you want it?” he repeated. Oh, dear. He had actually taken that as an instruction, and he wanted to make sure he got it right.

She sighed.

“Yes, dear. Am I speaking Greek here? Make me want it, seduce me, make me feel attracted to you.”

“I thought you already were.”

She huffed. “Well, what can I say, this has sort of… cooled off.” She really, really, really hated to have to be so blunt. But he just didn’t get it, did he?

“So how do I seduce you?”

On the one hand, she wanted to burst out into laughter. He was so earnest, so ridiculous, so far away from Oakley the king of cool that had first captured her in his nets.  On the other hand… what was that thrum deep in her underbelly, that prevented her from just sending him packing? He was adorable, and hell-bent on getting her. Hm.

She surprised herself by answering with a higher degree of sincerity, and a much lower degree of irony, than she had intended at first.

“I don’t know, Oakley, what do you normally do? I should say you’re quite adept at flirting.”

“Yes but… But now you would know what I’m doing and why. It wouldn’t be spontaneous. I’d feel self-conscious.”

Yes, well, she thought, it wouldn’t get as awkward as this, whatever it is they were doing. Seduction for dummies.

“Just… can you give me a hint?” he begged.

She sighed deeply. “There’s the classic methods. Tell me nice things about myself.”

“Like what.”

“Seriously?” she glared.

He cleared his throat and pondered. “Ok, ok. You’re… pretty.”

She tilted her head, disapproving. Coming from that snake charmer who dated twenty-year-old Italian beauty goddesses, to be called ‘pretty’, and in such a hesitant tone, more than anything made her want to slap his face.

He noticed her displeasure.

“Your hair is very nice.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that the best you can do?”

“You have a nice body.”

“Oh, hold me, I’m getting weak at the knees” she mocked.

“What’s wrong with what I’ve said?”

“Do you see me swooning yet?”

He frowned, deep in thought.

She sighed, and relented. “It’s just… It doesn’t make me feel very special, Oakley. You could be saying that to anyone.”

“Not really. Some girls are ugly as fuck.”

“Oh, forget this” she snarled. This was a very bad idea, and a waste of everybody’s time. There was no making a man out of that cocky, bratty baboon.

“No, sorry, please! Can you lend me a hand? Please…”

She huffed. The damn puppy eyes.

“Let’s set this straight, alright?, once and for all. Are you attracted to me at all, or is this just an exercise to heal your pride or something?”

He blushed. He actually blushed.

“Well?”

“...I…”

You’re hanging by a thread, young man, she told him via telepathic waves.

“I like you” he said, blushing red as a poppy.

“Be still, my heart” she mocked.

“I mean, you’re sexy” he insisted.

“Sweetie, I’m afraid this is hopeless.”

The puppy eyes, with a hint of what, to her, appeared as sincere disappointment. She sighed.

“Ok. Tell me what you like about me. But it has to feel like you have really been looking, alright? Just tell me… tell me what attracted you in the beginning. What did you first noticed about me that interested you?”

“Your hair.”

She rolled her eyes. “We’ve covered that, didn’t work.”

“No, wait. I was going to say… When you wear those braids. They’re cute. They make you look like a little girl.”

Hm. “Ok, I’m listening” she said.

“You’re clever, and very cultured. And you’ve, eeerm, you’ve had lots of experiences. You’ve lived a lot. It’s not what I’m used to.”

She squinted, and urged him with a nod to go on.

“When you talk to people your age. You’re more relaxed, and you laugh more, and you look so self-assured. Like there’s a joke you all know that I don’t get. I find that intriguing. Like I'm only getting snippets out of you, like there is a lot of you I haven't really seen yet.”

She smirked in spite of herself. We have a Cyrano among us, she thought.

“Better” she said.

“You don’t wear make up.”

She frowned slightly, not altogether sure where he was going with that, or that she would like it once he got there.

“It’s like you… Like you’re just yourself and if they like you, fine, and if they don’t, they don’t, like you’re above it. Like you don’t have to try. It’s kind of… Um… I like that.”

She was smiling frankly now, though her eyes were still skeptical.

Oakley was on a roll now.

“Your body. It’s kind of… harder? I don’t know. Softer but harder. Sharper.”

“O...kaay… Can’t say I follow, but… ok, I guess.”

“The way you were when we were fucking. You really had no patience for my crap, did you?” He laughs. He dazzles.

She can’t help herself and laughs as well. “Yes, well, life is too short.”

“When you told me to shut up. That was hot.”

Oh, dearie. She was definitely a bit flustered now. Who would have guessed. She gave him a long, assessing look. He looked puzzled. She grinned.

“That’ll do, boy” she said.

His eyes went wide.

“W… wait, is that it? Are we going to fuck now?”

She huffed, exasperated. “Does it look like I want to fuck to you?”

He appeared confused.

“Oakley, it’s really not that hard. You will know when I want to fuck you, because I will be all over you, alright?”

"...Alright." He ruffled his hair. "I don't know what to do now."

"Just let me read" she said, replacing her sunglasses and opening her book where she had left it. Her mouth was pursed to try and contain her little smirk.

"Alright then" he said, standing up, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, ruffling his hair again. And he left.

She allowed herself to smile properly now. This should be fun.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

The next day, she found herself choosing her clothes more carefully. She picked a flowing skirt in a very thin, almost tissue-like linen blend that fell just above the knee, and a loose, translucent cotton blouse with a wide neck, that dropped off the shoulder constantly. It would work nice with that heat, but also… Well, it might work well for more than just the heat. She decided she wouldn't wear a bra.

At lunch they all sat together under the pergola, bright green vines combed by the breeze. Whenever she leaned over to reach the bread basket or the wine, she caught Oakley’s eyes dipping to her cleavage, putting a delightful flutter in her stomach.

Later, twilight falling, a few of them were sitting around the pool. The breeze kept rustling her skirt, goosebumps on her skin, and Oakley’s eyes returning again and again to whatever bit of flesh that had become uncovered.

When there was a moment of distraction, with two of the girls having wrestled each other into the pool, she thought it was a good time for a test. She got up from her lounge chair, put a hand on Oakley’s shoulder, making his head whip around from the two nymphs and their wet t-shirt contest, and hummed low in his ear, “Come to my room.”

Oakley looked up to her, eyes wide. He had one chance. She held his stare, making sure there was no doubt what she was implying.

He got up immediately, an earnest look on his face.

She grinned. Test passed with flying colours. She held his hand, and they walked together to her bedroom.

She was only just shutting the door when he jumped her, half hard already, kissing her with way too much tongue, hands everywhere.

“Glllmbf… Oakley” she managed to say, pushing him away. “Calm down, dear, we have all night…”

“Do you want me to say nice things about you?” he said, slightly out of breath, one hand still on her boobs.

“Er, no. We’re past that stage.”

He looked relieved.

“No, what I want, actually…” she said, extricating herself from his octopus hold, and backing up to the bed, “I want you to… No, stay where you are” she said, holding her hands up to still him. “I want you to masturbate.”

He frowned, his eyes widened, looking alarmed.

“What?”

“You’ll be more relaxed then, and not so eager to come, and you’ll be more focused on me.”

He looked around himself.

“Right here?”

She nodded.

“Right now?”

She nodded again, already feeling a tingle in her cunt.

“For my viewing pleasure.”

He looked mightily confused, not moving.

“When I said we have all night…” she urged.

“Yes, yes, alright, hang on.” He looked at a loss what to do with his hands.

She would have to take charge of the situation.

“Oakley” she said.

“Yes?”

“Do exactly what I tell you.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Unbutton your shirt. Yes, your shirt, do it. Come on.”

He still hesitated for a few more seconds, but then he obeyed, revealing his flesh button by button. She ran her eyes appreciatively on his lean, toned chest and her flat, shapely stomach. She took special delight in the groove of his hipbones and the happy trail under his navel, a few shades darker than the golden curls on his head. He awaited further instructions, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He seemed to be both enjoying her gaze and made slightly skittish by it. Bearing in mind that his prefered method of seduction was purring at girls with that bronze voice of his, while eyefucking them to a mush, a bit of his own medicine wouldn’t do him any harm.

“Don’t take your shirt off yet, just leave it hanging” she said, admiring him still. “Stroke yourself” she said after a spell. “Both hands. From your chest down to your stomach.”

He vacillated for a second, looking self-conscious. She kept her eyes on him, undressing him, scorching him and fucking him silly at the same time. He decided to let her take the wheel. He put his hands on himself and started running them downwards, exactly as he had been told.

“Slowly” she said. “That’s better. Close your eyes. No rush, Oakley. That’s it.” His chest was heaving now, his mouth parted. He was beautiful, he radiated sex. She could feel herself getting wet.

“Think about me watching you” she muttered, as his hands brushed on his own skin. “Think about me. You’re trying to turn me on. Make me yearn that your hands were mine all over you. Touch yourself like you’d want me to touch you.”

He was starting to get it. His long, elegant fingers took a second on his own nipples. He pinched them between the crooks of his middle and ring finger. Then he touched lightly down his sides, then on the hip bone, and finally brushed on top of his crotch, where the hint of pubic hair began.

“Now touch your cock through your pants. Let me see it grow.”

His breath caught. So did hers. He palmed himself, his movements easy now, practiced, his erection straining more and more against the fabric. He started rubbing rhythmically, his lids fluttering, his eyes on hers, expectant. She decided to be gracious.

“Get it out” she muttered.

He undid the buttons, let the cargo shorts and underwear fall, and stepped out of them. He grabbed his cock, flushed dark, fully hard, and stroked it a couple of times, his breathing quickened and heavier. He opened his eyes and fixed them on her again. She licked her lips.

“Do it. Show me” she said.

He wetted his palm with spit and started jerking off faster, his eyes drooping, his legs shaking, his buttocks clenching. She was sat on the bed, legs crossed, tightening her thighs, putting pressure on her crotch. Oakley’s panting awoke some recent memories that made her squirm.

His mouth was hanging slack, his gasps becoming moans, more and more desperate, his hips thrusting minutely into his hand, his chest heaving, a drop of sweat trickling down his tense, gloriously unhinged face.

He came with a groan, one hand cupped around the head to prevent his come from spilling everywhere, jerking himself through his orgasm, his back arching and shivering with the aftershocks.

He opened his eyes, looking slightly hazed. As his breathing went back to normal, he stared at his palms, covered in come.

She smiled, and went to fetch him some tissues so that he could clean himself up. There were some drops on the floor.

“Sorry about…”

“It’s fine.”

And now she kissed him, at her leisure, dipping her tongue just a tad, stroking his.

“That was indecently hot” she muttered into his ear. She grabbed him by the hand and walked them both to the bed. She laid down on her front.

“Sit down here, by my side” she said. Once he had obeyed, she twisted her neck and sought his mouth again for a kiss, and then she turned her face away. “Kiss my neck.”

She waited. A few seconds later, his lips were on her nape. He was still panting slightly. It was pleasant.

“Like this?” he asked.

“Like this, but more.”

He applied himself.

“Raise my blouse. Stroke my back.”

He slid his hands under the fabric and she felt the brush of his fingertips on her skin. She exhaled deeply, relaxing into it.

“That’s lovely” she said. “Don’t stop.”

He did as he was bid, becoming bolder by the minute. His smooth, hard nails skimmed a bit harder over the sensitive skin of her sides, his fingertips raked a bit deeper down the centre of her back. She had her eyes closed, focusing on his touch. It felt divine.

“Now your lips” she muttered after a beat.

“My lips?”

“Kiss my back.”

She heard him lean over -the bedding rustled, the mattress creaked-, and there, oh, there, his tiny crooked mouth, the heat of his breath, a nuzzle of the tip of his nose, and a trail of goosebumps broke all over her. She squirmed a little, her back arching, his touch exquisite. His mouth on her spine. Then on her shoulder blades. Then moving down to her side.

“Hmmm…” she hummed, gasping slightly when his mouth on her hip tickled her. His mouth met the waistband of her skirt.

“Lift my skirt, Oakley” she said. “Kiss me there.”

His hands creeped under the gossamer fabric, between her thighs. His mouth on the back of her thighs, and climbing up.

“Ah, yes” she whispered, when she felt his lips just where thighs meet buttocks, so sensitive there.

Her cunt was throbbing with heat and clenching. The tip of his fingers brushed her panties. She slid her knickers down, wiggling out of them, his eyes fixed on her movements like a cat with a red dot. She propped herself on one elbow and one knee, resting partially on her side.

“Lie on top of me, Oakley” she said.

He plunged eagerly. She felt him half-hard again against the soft flesh of her thigh (Ah, twenty year olds!) His weight on her, covering her from head to toe. His warmth, the smoothness of his skin, his hard muscles, the brush of his hair on her. She sighed and pushed her butt against him, making his breath catch. He started prodding between her legs with the tip of his cock.

“Don’t stick it in yet, Oakley, for god’s sake! Haven’t you heard of teasing?”

“What do you want then?”

“I like to feel you like that. It’s nice. You can move, and press against me. It’s lovely. Don’t you like it?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that I do” he snapped.

She giggled and pushed her hips back again. The cold tip of his cock brushed on her lips. She clenched her thighs around it.

“Fuck” he gasped, and swallowed.

“Touch my breast” she muttered.

His hand was there quicker than lightning.

“Keep kissing my neck like that…”

His breathing was picking up again, and everytime she clenched her thighs, he whimpered. He was rutting against her now, snapping out of his daze whenever he could to remember to keep kissing her neck, while his hand kneaded her breast, delighting in the way it hung in that position. They just kept at it for a while, the velvet skin of his hard cock rubbing on her, not enough, but just right, his hand on her, his breath, his skin. It was delicate and sensual, her whole body delighting in it.

“Oh god I’m…” he gasped, and came, shivering against her, spurts of warm come between her thighs, over her cunt, whimpering, panting.

 

“Er” he said, when he could, and slowly sat up. “Sorry.”

She wiped herself with the sheets, then him.

Oakley looked utterly mortified.

“Sorry” he repeated.

“It’s fine, Oakley, it’s perfectly fine. Really.” And this time, she meant it. “It was delightful.”

“Let me keep going, I’ll…”

Mortification and embarrassment are not sexy, Oakley, she wanted to say. Instead, she leaned over to kiss him, taking her time and her pleasure from his mouth, and then muttered, “Go to your room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Oakley looked shocked.

“But… Aren’t you horny? Don’t you want me to…?”

“Hm” she grinned. “I’m incredibly horny. But I’ll do it myself.”

“Er, why?”

“Because I know just how I like it.”

Oakley saw she had a point, tilting his head and nodding.

“Can I watch?” Eyes wide and bright, cheeks flushed with his orgasm, all sorts of adorable.

She thought about it.

“Maybe next time” she answered eventually. “This one is just for me.”

“Oh” His disappointment was nothing short of endearing.

“Come on, chop-chop, off you go” she urged, eager to get down to business.

He kissed her again before he got up. That was worth ten brownie points. He trotted outside, but not before throwing her one last look, at her eyes, at her crotch. Twenty brownie points. He shut the door gently behind him. She wondered if he was waiting behind it.

With that thought in mind, she plopped backwards onto the bed, stroked her thighs upwards, and just went for it, because she had been foreplayed within an inch of her life already. She circled her fingertips on her clit without further ado, and in about twenty seconds she was coming, moaning and gasping, seeing sparkles, one might even say fireworks.

Well, that was absolutely lovely, Oakley. How was it for you?

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the subject of boobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is unbeta'd and kinda rushed, because I love it but I'm squeezing it in between other things. So editing surely not to my usual standards, which are hardly perfect, but I assure you are a bit more careful than this.
> 
> Anyway. Oakley, tits, go.

 

She woke up late next morning, stretching and yawning and twisting on her bed like a cat. She was feeling, well, like she had had a wonderful orgasm the night before, after being worked up half-to-death, beautifully and devotedly, by a twenty-year-old Greek god. Excuse the shit-eating grin on her face, but she was feeling quite divine herself.

Coffee, toast, an interesting article on the agricultural shift in the region in the last few years, with a few references to Etruscan times and the change of paradigm the Roman occupation had brought about. And now she fancied a swim. She went to put on a bikini and a loose beach dress, picked up her book, suntan lotion and a wide straw hat, and off to the pool she went.

It was hot, but there was a thin layer of clouds that made it bearable to lie in the sun without baking. So, the pool was a popular destination that morning. She spotted Oakley before anyone else, as if there was a powerful spotlight permanently aimed at him. She nodded to herself and accepted the facts of life; she was nursing a reborn crush for that boy.

So, no doubt it stung a little to find him surrounded in turgent, unspoilt tits. Everyone was going top-less this morning, all the girls, fancy that. Her twenty-year-old beau was shirtless too, pretending he was totally untroubled by the perky mounds wobbling around him. And god, he was good at it. He really acted cooler than cool, as if they were all wearing bloody ponchos instead of only their skin, and what that got him was for the girls to thrust their endowments his way all the more.

She sighed deeply, out of second-hand embarrassment and irritation, smothered liberally to cover the irk of jealousy. You really have no time for this, woman. They like him so much, they could stuff him.

So she firmly told herself, as she took her dress off and laid on her front, propping herself on her elbows to read her book, and slowly, very slowly, as if her mind was somewhere else, she pulled one of the ties of her bikini top, undoing the knot at the back and at the neck. She didn’t remove it as such, it just stayed there, under her tits. They weren't really on display, not from the side, but when she turned her head in passing -absolutely no intention to see what Oakley was doing, none at all, who do you take her for-, he found Oakley ogling, mouth slightly parted, eyes fixed on her. When he realised she had caught him, he jolted a bit and looked away.

Now, it was very bright, sun or no sun, so she could not have known for sure, but if Oakley had not flustered a bit…

She smirked to herself, pleased to an almost unbecoming extreme for a woman that liked to consider herself above such petty playground games. But she had always had an inquisitive nature, so she decided to make a little experiment. She rolled onto her back, leaving the bikini bra on the lounge chair, and proceeded to apply suntan lotion on the delicate skin of her cleavage and breasts -high protection level stuff, thick and difficult to absorb. She really had to rub it in. She was not trying to make a show of it, really wasn’t, but she had to make sure it did its job, didn’t she? When she had got rid of most of the white streaks, she lied flat on her back and lifted her arms over her face.

And when she caught Oakley staring next, her eyes were drawn to what obviously were the solid beginnings of a boner.

Now, his technique in the breast department was pretty basic. She had experienced it first hand. But with a few tips, and definitely some practice, there was no reason why those long fingers and playful tongue couldn’t be put to excellent use, if he was up for it.

So she laid there, looking at the sky, with the Tuscan summer like a solid weight on her skin, like Oakley’s body yesterday evening. And she felt hot blood starting to flow south, bringing up glorious tingles of arousal.

 

*

 

The staring contest carried on all day. Oakley went on his merry way, she went hers, but whenever they were in the vicinity of one another, the game of cat-and-mouse was on. It was a thrill. She felt a buzz under her skin the whole day long. She was crushing like a teenager, god help her.

That evening, Oakley stayed behind while his mates drove to town to watch _il Calcio_. The girls left too. Oakley had made a show of his not going, standing by the door as she went by, scorching her with his eyes. My my, she thought, and just before she started the walk down the corridor leading to her room, she turned her head, and gestured for him to follow her.

Which he did. Swaggering, because the boy could swag.

He did not pounce on her the moment they were inside the room. He stood there, tall as the Campanile di Sienna, and just as striking and well-proportioned. She hummed appreciatively.

“What do you want tonight” he said, and her knees went weak at that question, posed in that low purr of his, which had consistently made her cream her kickers from the moment she had met him. She bit her lip, and licked it, her stomach churning, her cunt throbbing.

“Sit down. Here.” She walked to the nice wicker armchair in the corner, by the window, where the breeze was cool. He did it without hesitation, and when he sat down, she could see his semi already straining against the seam of his cargo pants. Those damn, baggy things did absolutely nothing for his shapely butt.

She was wearing the same loose beach dress as this morning, and still the bikini instead of underwear. He was looking at her as if she was wearing Versace. She sat straddling his lap, the wicker creaking. His chest was already rising with quickened breaths.

“I want you to touch my breasts” she said, one hand on each side of his shoulders, holding onto the backrest of the chair.

He evidently thought that was a great idea. Without further ado, he brought his big, elegant hands up, and started to squeeze and knead, looking like a pervy little boy who’s just having his first handful.

“Oakley” she said, flat and cutting.

“Hm?”

“Subtle, much?”

“What?”

“I thought I was supposed to enjoy this too. Just… here.” She covered his hands with hers, slowing him down. 

He looked so concentrated it was rather cute, focused on their hands.

"Look at me to see if I'm enjoying it" she muttered. "My face."

He looked up, perhaps a bit unsure of what he was looking for.

"Don’t squeeze so hard” she whispered. "If you’re going down the massage route, massage them, dammit, don’t try to tear them off me! ”

Which he did, his eyes going from her face to her boobs, watching them roll, and her nipples pebble.

“See, Oakley” she said, leaning close to him, getting a bit short of breath now, “I don’t know with other women, but with me, the thing with tits is time. It builds up, you see, from ‘oh, that’s nice’ to ‘I’m going to come from this’, if you do it right.”

“Really?” he said, kneading gently, rubbing his thumb on her nipple through two layers of clothing. It was really hmmmm…

“Sorry, what did you say?” she mumbled, realising she had not been listening.

“I said, can you really come from just this?”

“Hm, I can get pretty damn near" she said, her eyes heavy, shivers down her spine. "But it has to be with the mouth, usually.”

“I can do that” he purred, bending his head to brush his lips over her still clothed nipples, rather delicately, what a pleasant surprise.

“Hmmmm…” she hummed, arching her neck back.

“You like that?” he asked, right against her, his hot breath coming through the sheer cloth.

“Very much" she gasped. Understatement. "Don’t stop. Keep doing the other thing with your hand.”

He was mouthing her nipple and stroking and massaging with his hand. Her own fingers were threaded in his curls, keeping him close, her hand on his, guiding his rhythm. Her clit was throbbing, sending hot shockwaves all through her middle.

“Can I take your dress off?”

“Hmmm...not yet. I’m enjoying this.”

She raised on her knees, so that her nipples were level with his mouth, and pulled the ties of her bikini to undo the knots. She threw the flimsy little black piece over her head. Oakley’s eyes were almost dozy with lust, his hard cock bulging in his trousers, and having to shift to accommodate it. She put one hand on each side of his head, weaving her fingers in his hair, with a firm grip, and pulled him close. His mouth opened wide to suck her flesh in. Meanwhile, his hands were creeping under her dress, reaching for her butt, his stroke light, teasing.

“You’re getting better at this” she purred.

He chuckled low against her boob, making her squirm. Her hips were circling aimlessly, unconsciously trying to rut. He went for the crotch.

“Uh-huh” she said. “This part is forbidden, for now. I want all your focus on these. Can you do that?”

“Let me take your dress off then" he countered, an impish grin on his face.

She bit her lip in thought, and had a very strong impression of how hard it must have been for his mother to deny this boy anything he asked, when it was those sweet eyes he employed in the negotiations.

She got one strap off her shoulder, exposing her left breast. His eyebrows did a wonderful thing. He went to lurch for her, but he stopped himself and looked up.

“Tell me what to do” he said, apparently beginning to enjoy that little game of theirs.

“Tip of your tongue. Tease me.”

Eyefucking her at all times, he leaned over and flicked his tongue on her nipple.

“Not so sharp, it’s not a clit” she hissed. “Flatten your tongue, lick me slowly. Ah…” Alright, that was nice, no qualifiers. There was a steady flow of heat pooling in her underbelly, and rising.

“Don’t forget I’ve got two boobs” she said, breathing heavily. “Your hand. Stroke me, but softly. Tease me, Oakley, tease me… It builds up, remember? It takes time.”

“Is it working?” he asks, doing as he was told.

“Oh yes…” she said, her eyes fluttering, her heart thumping hard, her cunt clenching. “God yes.”

Then, suddenly, she was the impatient one. She dragged the other strap off, and the dress pooled around her waist.

“Your mouth” she said, urgently. “Suck it. Can you work your tongue at the same… Oh fuuuuck…”

Her clit was throbbing deeply, and her cunt kept tightening, begging for cock. The pleasure of Oakley’s mouth on her right nipple ran deep and hot, infuriatingly remote, and exquisite. She was pulling his hair hard now, her back arched, tits thrust into his face, tense as a bowstring from head to toe, shivering, his hands flat on her back, keeping her close, licking and sucking relentlessly at her nipple.

“Oh god… Oh fuck, Oakley, yes…”

Well, enough of that torment, for the love of god. She slid one hand under the folds of her dress, and inside the bikini brief, dipped the tip of her fingers inside her slit for wetness, and started to stroke her clit.

She caught a sideways glance of Oakley’s eye widening when he realised what she was doing. Immediately after, there was only one hand on her back, and she heard him rustling between her legs, trying to pry his fly open single-handedly. She stopped what she was doing for a second to help out. Between the both of them, his mouth never lifting from her nipple, they worked his cock out, and then each proceeded to wank.

She had two fronts open, with her crotch and her nipple, and the divided attention seemed to be prolonging her pleasure and enhancing it. She squirmed, moaned, gasped, cursed and begged, and when she finally came, she came so hard and so long, she thought that one deserved a mention in her diary.

He was still frantically jerking off, the little noises he was making absolutely inebriating. She tilted his head back, so that she could see his face as pleasure mounted. He was a vision like that. She replaced his hand with hers and finished him off, feeling him tensing, tensing, tensing, and then releasing, with a breathy, desperate moan, and finally jolting up with the aftershocks, his hair a mess, his face debauched.

They leaned against each other, touching their foreheads, giving time for their breathing to slow down.

“I don’t know you” he said, panting, “but I thought that was hot.”

She chuckled, delighted. “And it was only second base.”

“Do I get to touch your pussy tomorrow?” he asked eagerly, after swallowing, his throat dry.

She gave that some consideration, climbing off his lap. Her hands were sticky and she had his come on her clothes and her belly. She wanted to wash.

She stood up and looked at him, his cock, now soft, still hanging out, his beautiful face and neck flushed pink, diamonds of sweat on his brow, and his skin and nipples pebbling, now that the cool evening breeze had replaced her own body heat.

She thought they had been paying very little attention to his body. And what a body it was.

“No, tomorrow it’s my turn” she announced, heat in her eyes. “Tomorrow I’m doing you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also rimming and fingering, very brief.  
> Very tame compared to what I'm used to in M/M slash, but idk, fair warning. I just needed to leave Oakley flat on his back as if he had just been thrashed by the Hulk, for reasons, and perhaps a bit of inventiveness was just what this boy needed. Let us not forget, he's here to learn.
> 
> Again, unbeta'd, rushed, but just because I'm churning it out faster than I usually do, doesn't mean it's getting less than all my love and attention.

After lunch, in the lazy hours of the afternoon, she had finally decided to give in to his insistent, unwavering stares. While everybody went to nap by the pool or to play cards in the cellar, where it was cooler, she returned his stare, and gestured with her head for him to follow her. He gave her five minutes head start -his pride, she supposed-, and after that he turned up at her door, eyes bright, expression intense.

She let him in, but made him stop when she had him in the middle of the room. She walked around him in a close circle, stalking him like a lioness. He stayed still and rigid, eyes front, allowing the examination.

“I’ve already jerked off twice today thinking about this” he muttered, earnest.

“Have you now” she said, keeping her voice to a low hum, picturing it in her head, biting a little smirk of pure smugness. “You’ll last longer then.”

It was a good moment to give his arse a solid squeeze. It was rock hard. You’d break a nail trying to pinch that buttock. She sighed, out of a mixture of desire, anticipation and gratitude to god and all his angels for having put this Adonis in her path. Next time in Firenze, she’d go inside the Duomo, face the altar and join her hands in praise.

She stood in front of him, taking in his lovely face. He returned her gaze, expectant, a bit thrown off by her attention.

“Have you ever been worshipped as if you were, say, a statue” she said, eyes fierce.

“Not that I know of” he replied, with a grin that was not as self-assured as he had probably intended.

She hooked her hand around his neck and pulled him low towards her as if to kiss him. “Take off your shirt” she whispered in his ear, feeling him shiver, goosebumps on his neck.

He obeyed, let the shirt drop. His underwear was poking above the waist of his cargo trousers. She slid one finger just behind the waistband and dragged it all around his belly. He cleared his throat.

“You’re so lean” she said, “and so smooth.” She walked around his back. “Do you know you’ve got freckles here?”

“Have I?”

She pointed at them. With her tongue. “Here… here… here… here… There’s loads of them.” She stroked her lips over his smooth, golden skin, her hands falling on his waist and dragging them up on his ribs. She delighted for a spell in comparing the hardness of the bone and the different hardness of the muscles, while putting open-mouthed kisses on his back. His chest was heaving with quickened, superficial breathing.

“Where else have you got freckles?” she asked, lips brushing his skin.

“Hm. My thighs.”

She chuckled. “Are you teasing me, Oakley?”

“Provoking you, more like.”

Be still, my heart, she thought, utterly charmed by him. She put her arms around his waist, and unbuttoned his trousers from behind. He had his head slightly turned to see her. She looked up to take in the tendons, the planes and ridges of his neck, the hairline at his nape. The trousers fell to the floor. She stroked his thighs from knee to hip.

“Do you run, Oakley?” she asked, now stroking the inside of his thighs. She could hear his breathing, shorter and faster.

He hummed yes, trying to sound unaffected. Her hand ran up the cleft of his arse.

“The things I want to do to you” she muttered then, dipping her hands inside the waistband of his pants and easing them down. Oakley kicked off his sandals, stepped out of the clothes pooling around his ankles, and stood naked in the middle of the room. His hands were hanging at his sides, and she could tell he was trying to keep them still and look relaxed. It was endearing, and a lot more arousing than she would have guessed. She loved having him like that, willingly exposed and hers.

She was still at his back. For a minute, she did nothing but stare at the vast expanse of skin before her hungered eyes, more harmony and more beauty in that sight than you get in the whole of the Galleria Borghese. (Alright, maybe not more, but there or thereabouts.)

“Are you uncomfortable?” she asked.

“No, just… No, I’m fine.”

“I don’t have to tell you how beautiful you are, do I?” she said,  as she ran her hand up from his thighs, over his buttocks, and rested it on his hip bone.

He chuckled. “It doesn’t hurt” he said.

She leaned over and dipped the tip of her tongue in the dimples at the small of his back, just where his arse started. He squirmed, taken by surprise.

“You are so beautiful” she whispered against his skin.

“Thank you” he replied, trying to sound composed.

Finally, she walked around him and stood in front of him. His cock was resting thick against his thigh, interested. Lust was glazing her eyes. The sunlight touched him from the side, the colour and thickness of honey at that hour of the afternoon, drawing into sharp contrast the reliefs of his body. She stepped nearer, eager to see every mark, every pore, every scar, every freckle, eager to smell him. Because he had been in the sun, there was a hint of terracotta there, dancing and bringing together the scent of soap, suntan lotion, deodorant, after shave, and a hint of sweat. The combination was still fresh, young, and inebriating.

“I love this part” she said, palm flat on his hip, her thumb tracing the groove there. She felt his stomach, so gloriously flat and taut, and then his pectoral muscles, with a brush on his nipples that made him swallow. “And I love this part” she said, tracing his collarbones, the dip between them, the base of his neck.

All the while, with his mouth slightly parted and his breathing getting heavier, Oakley kept his eyes fixed on her face, piercingly intense. Oh, he had that down to an art form. It was giving her butterflies.

“Your neck drives me insane." She closed the distance between them and put her mouth on his throat, peppering open-mouthed kisses there, heading down. He tilted his head to help, with a sharp breath, and put his hands on her arms. He was not so much aroused as he was excited right now, shivering slightly with anticipation. He had given himself over to her completely, relinquished control and initiative, and it seemed he was enjoying it.

Her hands trailed down his sides, delighting in his waist, and then his arse, while her mouth traced a winding path all over his chest and stomach, raising goosebumps in its wake. She lavished attention on his small, dark nipples, licking and lapping and flicking and sucking, hearing him groan and gasp, his cock filling.

“You’re so smooth all over…” she muttered,

Then slowly, very slowly, she kneeled down.

His breath caught, his cock twitched, she heard him swallowing thickly.

She touched her cheek to his cock, softly, then the tip of her nose, finally her lips. Smoother than marble, and getting about as hard before her very eyes. She looked up and found him staring, mouth slack, breathing quickly. It was as if he had never had a blow job before in his life, he was that excited.

She traced her tongue from the base to the tip, all along the underside, with a sharp flick to the slit.

“Nnnnh…” He clenched his buttocks.

Slowly, gently, she touched her tongue flat on the frenulum, stroking side to side. He exhaled deeply, shudderingly, and fisted his hands hard, his knuckles white. It was taking quite a lot of him to try and keep his eyes open.

She ran her lips up and down the sides of the shaft a few times, with a kiss now and then, just a tease, just for her pleasure, as she cupped his balls and gently tugged them, while her other hand felt the muscle under his navel, the happy trail there, so sparse and soft.

She was burning with desire. She wetted her palm with saliva, closed her fist around his cock and sucked the head. She heard him moan, and she moaned too. When she started playing with her tongue on the head inside her mouth, he started shaking his thigh slightly, as if trying to let off some of the pent up energy it was taking to stand still and upright. He was struggling. It was glorious. She took him in deep, and sucked hard, her hand squeezing the base, and she started bobbing her head, her lips sealed tight around him, her hand cupping his arse, guiding it back and forth.

“Oh god…” he muttered, both his thighs bouncing, now the one, now the other. He rested his hands on her shoulders, to try and keep himself upright. The noises he was making, sharp breaths, gasps, little moans, they were going straight to her cunt.

She pulled back with a wet pop.

“I think you need to lie down” she said, wiping her mouth.

“Yeah, me too” he said, breathy.

They made for the bed, and she pushed him onto his back. It was a good moment to get rid of her dress and her underwear. He watched with a quick lick of his lips. Then she kneeled on the floor, on a cushion, and he propped himself up on his elbows to see.

She took him into her mouth again, making love to his cock, hollowing her cheeks around the shaft, her tongue playing with the ridges and grooves of the head. He was squirming, his mouth gaping, his eyes half-lidded, tilting his head back now and again, the gorgeous shapes of his throat thrown in stark relief. That voice of his, undone into sounds of pleasure, was making her dripping wet.

“Are you close?” she said, right against his skin.

“Yeah” he muttered, panting.

She withdrew her mouth. He fixed his eyes on her, frustrated and expectant at the same time. Now, there was something she had only done a couple of times, a long, long time ago. She wanted to do it now.

“Lift your knees” she said. “Part your legs.”

“What…?” he asked, obeying.

She licked from the base of his balls, over his perineum, right to...

“Oh my god” he gasped, throwing his head back. “Oh my fucking god…” he moaned, as she kept licking.

“You like that?” she said, though the answer was right before her, with his cock spurting pre-come.

“Fuck yes…” he whimpered. “Fuck yes…”

Her jaw was getting tired, her tongue was strained. With one last lick, she took his cock in her mouth again, not before slicking her little finger first. And when he had him deep, heavy on her tongue, her cheeks hollowed, she dipped her little finger in his hole, relaxed from the rimming, and hooked it to stroke inside.

“Oh fuck!” he cried, and moaned like a cat in heat, and came with a cry into her mouth. She sucked him and stroked him through his little moans, whimpers, gasps, jolts and shivers.

He was lying on the bed, spread-eagled, chest rising and falling, eyes wide and off-focus, mouth agape, as if he had been ran over by a lorry.

She wiped her mouth, his salt on her tongue, and climbed up on the bed, lying by his side, propped on her elbow. Her cunt was throbbing and only the look on his face distracted her from what she was aching for now.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Oakley didn’t answer straight away. He was still panting.

“Never played with your prostate before?”

He shook his head slowly, eyes still lost in space. He looked adorably spent.

“If we were in town, I’d get you some toys.”

He turned to face her, in a daze.

“Would you like that?”

He nodded heavily.

“Is it alright if I kiss you?”

He nodded again. He could probably taste himself, and you never know. He didn’t look put off at all. He put his hands around her head and kissed her deep, restraining his tongue as she liked it.

“Hmmm… Much much better” she said, when she allowed her to breathe.

“Are you horny?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his eyes feverish.

“Very. That was very arousing.”

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, suggestive.

“Hm. I suppose I could take care of it myself… But since you’re here…” she joked.

“What do you want?”

His voice alone made her clit contract. She bit her lip in thought.

“I think I’d like to sit on your face.”

His eyes opened wide.

“But only if you promise to be… well, sensual.”

“I fucking promise” he said, charmingly eager.

She sat up, straddled his chest and positioned herself, Oakley’s face between her thighs. She wove her fingers through his curls, eyefucking him, making herself wait for it. She snaked her hips closer to him, and he reared his head, mouth parted, tip of his tongue out, making to reach her, but she was teasing. She did it again, getting closer. And again. And this time, a brush of his tongue.

“Ahh” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut.

Underneath her, Oakley smirked, impish. She kept snaking her hips, seeking quick touches. He flicked his tongue whenever he had her near enough.

“Touch me” she said. “My whole body wants you, not just my clit.”

He ran his long, elegant hands up the back of her calf, starting with her ankle, which felt a lot nicer than she would have guessed. Then, as she got a bit closer to his face, he brushed his nails up her thighs in counterstroke. Creative. Nice. Shivers. He closed his hands on her hips and rubbed his thumbs there, just on the edge of tickles, making her squirm.

“You’re getting really, really good at this” she said, in spite of herself, throwing her head back. It was not like this boy’s ego needed inflating, but fair is fair.

When he raked his fingertips down her back, she arched into it, thrusting her pussy against his face. He took full advantage, lapping at it, slow and hot.

“Mmmmh…” she hummed, with a gentle pull at his hair that made him groan.

He took two handfuls of her arse before she had any other ideas, and brought her close. Full contact now. She held herself still, kneeling up a bit to give him a better angle, one trembling hand on the headboard for leverage. He flicked his tongue playfully, irregularly, eyefucking her, kneading her buttocks in the meantime. Then a strong lap all over, so hot and wet and soft. Her whole body shook.

“Tease me again, Oakley” she begs, feeling herself getting close. “Make it last.”

He went back to light touches with just the tip again, so slight, fucking torture.

“Yes, that’s it” she gasped, her hips thrusting against him. “Ah, yes…” One hand on the headboard, another in her own hair. She got closer again. “Circles, trace circles on my clit with your tongue” she said, and moaned loudly when he did it. “God yes…”

She brought her hand down her neck and on her own breast. Oakley put his hand on hers, kneading together. She trapped his hand under hers against her skin, and got him to squeeze harder than she was, verging on painful. When he flicked his thumb on her nipple she cried out. Intense.

“Flick it sideways” she said, short of breath, and squirmed when he did, a bolt of electricity jolting her whole body. “Ah, stop. Lick me. Softly. Give me a second to breathe.”

He did, his eyes fixed on hers, one hand feeling her tit, the other on her arse.

“Can you alternate the three” she asks, panting, but it was more like begging. “The circling, the flicking and the lapping.”

He tried. A bit hesitantly and uncoordinatedly at first, but taking cues from her face and her moans, he soon got it. He was undoing her. The circles were like a low humdrum that got her buzzing, the flicks like electric shocks, and the wide laps allowed her to recover, while melting her on a slow burn. It was bloody heavenly, and he was a beautifully lewd vision between her thighs like that, eyes half-hooded, mouth open, tongue poking out.

She bit her lip hard, and yanked at his curls to get him closer, snaking her hips to dictate the pace and intensity of his touch. She was probably pulling a bit too hard, but she was falling apart, the slow, burning orgasm so devious, teasing her. She buried her face in her forearm against the wall, moaning, raising herself up.

Then his hand slithered from behind and his finger entered her. The angle was awkward for both, but she was so very much on edge, that was all she needed to start seeing stars.

“Oh fuck Oakley, right there, like this, just like this, yes, yes, yes…!” And she came, but as he kept licking her and fingering her, she didn't stop coming. “Oh god don’t stop, don’t stop, Oakley please don’t stop, oh my god, oh god, oh fuck, oh god… yes, oh my god, yes, yes, yes, oh YES! ...oh yes… oh yes… yes… fuck yes.. oh god…”

She shivered and panted, and it took her a while before she could gather herself and climb off him. She plopped at his side, breathing still heavy and fast, eyes lost in the ceiling.

When she turned to look at him, he wagged an eyebrow at her, with the smuggest face imaginable. She gave him a shove.

“Yeah, but it was good, right?” he asked, reaching for the water bottle on the bedside table. “I almost made you faint.”

She shook her head in dismay and rolled her eyes. He was so proud of himself, it went beyond annoying and right into adorable. She took a sip of water when he handed her the bottle, and she stretched her arms and her back luxuriantly with a sigh.

 

 

"Can I have a fag?" he asked after some time.

She nodded. "I think I'll have one too."

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty talking today, children. Which leads to things, as if often does.
> 
> Warnings for Tuscany porn. Gawd, I need to get my arse back there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I missed this knucklehead. Respite from the mighty angst of my other on-going things.  
> Always trust Oakley for a bit of harmless sexy fun.
> 
> (yes, bit rushed. So shoot me.)

What a wonderful thing it is to wake up with the nudge of a magnificent, nineteen-year-old morning wood against your arse. She pushed back against it, gently, once, twice. She could feel it twitch like a little living creature with a mind of its own. (Ok, maybe not that little.)

“Hmmm…” Oakley stirred, yawned.

It was a good moment to… She reached behind her back for his cock. Oakley gasped when she found it.

“Yikes” he said, his breath on the back of her neck. She could feel in her closed fist the velvety skin of the shaft being pulled back and forth around the hard flesh, as he started thrusting slowly into her hand. His breathing was still heavy from sleep, but it was getting heavier in all sorts of other manners. 

Her clit was tingling. She was too dozy still for a great display, but there were relatively low-effort, high-gratification options for them both. She turned to him and threw one thigh up and over his hip.

“Morning” purred Oakley, kissing her. You know, for a smoker, he tasted remarkably nice. Was this kid not human?

She grabbed his cock, and delicately jerked it, squeezed it and twisted it a few times, enjoying his changing expression. His brow was scrunched, his mouth had fallen open, his eyes heavy-lidded, and oh, his breathing… 

She wet her hand with saliva and made sure the tip of his cock was slick. He watched with eager eyes the progress of the situation. She pushed her hips closer to his crotch, and with a loose grip of the by now very, very hard shaft, she started stroking the tip on her clit. She angled herself to get the most satisfying stroke. 

“Oh, fuuuuuuck…” His chest was heaving quickly now, his body trembling with the effort to stay still for her.

She was getting a nice flick, but it could be improved. She withdrew her leg and laid on her back.

“What?” jumped Oakley, suddenly stirred awake from his doze. Ish.

“Kneel between my legs” she said, sprawling for him.

Oakley rubbed his sleepy eyes but obeyed. How mightily hard and magnificent he was, his cock wide awake even if he wasn’t.

She wrapped her thighs around him, hands on his arse, and manoeuvred him. She pulled at his neck to make him lean forward.

“A bit closer. Your legs are so damned long…”

Now she had him where she wanted him. He took hold of his hard-on again, re-slicked it, lifted her arse just so, and started to flick the head of Oakley’s cock on her clit again. It was his frenulum being stroked now. His face. He looked bloody helpless. He whimpered. 

“Touch me Oakley” she breathed, pumping her hips up, sensation in her clit building up.

Oakley propped himself with one hand flat on the bed by her side (she had to adjust the angle again, but no problem) and started to feel her breast with the other. His mind was not entirely in it (his eyes glazed, his expression almost goofy from the action between his thighs) so his touch was distracted, lazy, slow, with a light thumb-flick here and there, and it was bloody delicious. 

She was stroking herself faster now, moaning. 

“Oh, Oakley, oh god…” 

She was dying to be fucked, but by now she was desperate to come, and a change of position was an absolute bloody no at that stage. Fingering would have been lovely, but there is a limit to the Twister juggling a couple of sleepy, stiff-from-sleep lovers can accomplish so early in the morning. She continued to do what she was doing, faster, faster, adding more saliva as and when, delighting in his expression of ecstasy mingled with agony. It was not enough for him, so he would last a while… Even if she didn’t. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck…” she moaned as she started to come, stroking his cock frantically on her clit, gripping it tight, arching her back, whimpering, faster, faster, god, harder, girl not so hard you’ll hurt yourself, I don’t care, I don’t care, oh my god, oh god, oh fuck, oh yes…

“Oh, god!” she shouted, at the absolute peak of pleasure. And she continued with the religious theme, while stroking him onto her, more slowly now, and gentler, as she made her glowing way back to earth.

When she opened her eyes, it was to Oakley’s begging, tormented expression. 

“Come here” she said, as she sat up on the bed and rested her back on the headboard. “On your knees.”

He got her intentions quickly. His head was clearer now, or instinct had taken over. She readjusted her position on the bed to line herself up at the right height, grabbed two rock-hard handfuls of his arse, and pulled him towards her, taking him in her mouth.

“Ah!” gasped Oakley, bracing himself on the headboard, knuckles white. He was already very close, bless him.

She wasn’t in the right frame of mind for teasing, so she just sucked him, urging him to thrust in and out of the ring of her lips, flicking her tongue now and then. He was shuddering, his hands gripping tight the headboard edge, his arms trembling. She let him set the pace, one hand squeezing tight the base of his cock, while she stroked the other up and down the back of his thigh, on his hip bone. She fought the heaviness of her lids to look up to his face, a line across his forehead, jaw slack, the loveliest rose tinge on his face, chest and neck.

“Oh god” he muttered, “oh god I’m.. I’m going to…”

She encouraged him, taking him even deeper, a nudge at the back of her throat. He stood very still, tense as a bowstring, whimpering _adorably_ , and came hot in her mouth, while she jerked him.

And he stayed just as he was, chest heaving, covering basically the entirety of her field of vision with golden, smooth skin, and filling her nostrils with the earthy musk of nightly _and_ morning sex right on her face.

“Oakley” she said, with no answer. She slapped his butt, as plump and hard as that of a marble _kourós_. “Oakley!”

He blinked. “Sorry.” He unmounted her, and slumped down on the bed, arms crossed behind his head, one leg stretched, the other crossed, gleaming with either the early morning sun or a post-orgasmic glow. His cock was still plump. She wanted to sigh from the bottom of her soul. _Thank you god_. 

“When do I graduate to fucking?” he asked then.

“Excuse me?” she said, spurting water from the sip she had just taken.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” he asked, turning his pretty face to her. “Sort of… building it up from the ground up?”

“And fucking is the roof?” she snapped, dismayed.

“Er…”

She huffed.

“We _have_ been fucking, Oakley. Sticking your cock in it is no more sex than what we’ve done so far.”

“Yes but… Hell, I like sticking it in, what can I say. Don’t you like that? It sort of… Shit gets serious.”

“Shit’s already serious.”

“But you won’t let me fuck you” he insisted. He turned onto his side, propped on his elbow, cock still plump on his thigh. (And why can’t you stop looking at it woman.) “Because fucking is… the final frontier.”

She bit her whole bottom lip under the top one. _Just a kid._

“Let me fuck you” said Oakley.

 _Sigh_.

“What have I told you before, Oakley, I’m not a lightbulb. And I’m not a washing machine either, I don’t come with programs. You want something from me? Seduce me. Persuade me.”

“…Shall I sing tarantellas under your window?” he pulled a twisted smirk worthy of Errol Flynn himself that made her weak at the knees. God job she was lying down.

Still, she glared. Do not dare use that tone on me, young man.

“So what do you want?” he insisted. “Any ideas? I’m here to learn, remember?” Smirk.

She glared.

“And I’m a bloody good student.” Smirk.

Glare.

“And _everybody_ benefits for it.” Double smirk. And a fucking wink.

Triple glare.

“So? A bit of help?” He changed to puppy eyes. Hell, no, not _that_.

“Why do you want to fuck me?” she asked.

That got him frowning in confusion. But since she wasn’t following up on it, he took it as a proper question. Which it sort of was.

”Because… because I like to stick…”

She huffed, cutting him short. “Yes but, why? How does it feel?”

His eyes wide, his brow scrunched. Adorable thinking face, that.

“…Nice?” he tried.

She sighed in despair.

“Oakley?”

“Yes?”

“I’m trying to get you to talk dirty to me.”

“Oh.” He frowned some more.

“But you know what? Not right now. We need to get up.” 

School doesn’t open until at least 9 a.m. anyway.

 

*

 

They all had lunch at a friend’s farm house, under a pergola hung with green lush vines and jasmine, surrounded by acres of vineyards. Sounded better than it was. The heavy, sweet scent of the jasmine doesn’t really go with any food she had ever tried, and the vines, laden with ripening grapes, attracted a swarm of bees and fruit flies. But she was not going to bah-humbug a delightful lunch of varied, fresh _antipasti_ and an excellent _vitello tonnato,_ with sun-warmed black grapes just picked for dessert over such trifles. Not when it came garnished with lively conversation and even a spell of Verdi butchering (yes, _Libiamo_!) Who cared about a few flies.

The white wine went down like cool water. She might or might not have got a bit tipsy by the end of the meal. It would explain what happened afterwards.

Somehow, she found herself going for what could only be described as a romantic walk around the Etruscan, then Medieval, then Novecento restored ruins this lovely Tuscan country house boasted amidst its vineyards. Most of what stood of the complex didn’t raise above the knee, but there was a tower and a roofless abbey still half standing, devoured with brambles and creeping vines. Oakley had actually offered his arm to overcome an unreliable stack of stones toppled off a dry wall, and had not asked for it back, can you believe it? And now they were alone, ten minutes away by foot from the house, and out of sight. And the whole idyllic set up was like a scene from A Midsummer’s Night Dream, only in the afternoon, or a rip off from A Room With a View perhaps. And there were butterflies in her underbelly and a hot throb between her thighs, and a randy, 6’2” golden Adonis by her side. 

She couldn’t help herself.

“So, Oakley, what would you like to do to me?” she mumbled, her eyes carelessly roaming on the venerable stones, warm even when the sun was tucked behind a veil of frayed, dull white clouds today.

Oakley’s eyes went side to side, he blinked a couple of times, and then it dawned on him, what she was up to.

“Hmm… Stick my cock in you?” he tried.

Ok, no. That would not do.

“Alright, Oakley,” she said, “shut your eyes.” She stopped and pushed him gently against the wall of the abbey. He rested his arse on a ledge, hands in his pockets.

They had a magnificent view of the rolling fields here, dotted with terracotta-coloured country houses in the middle distance. Those country-houses had probably a decent view of them, if they so wished. But anyway. _Piacere_. Where were we. She stood by his side, taking in his face, making sure his eyes stayed closed, or just enjoying the sight. 

“Now, imagine me, on the bed… or the pool… or on the floor… Where am I?”

“…On the bed, I think” said Oakley. “First time at least. We’ll see later on” he wagged his eyebrows, the cheeky bastard.

“…Alright” she said, picturing it herself. “And how do you want me?”

Oakley raised an eyebrow. She expanded.

“Am I on my back, or sitting up, or…?”

“On your front” he said, very, very quickly. Had he been thinking about it already then?

Gulps.

“And am I naked or…?”

“You’re still dressed. You’re wearing that red dress. I can see your knickers through it, and your bra. It shows everything.” 

Right. He was getting the gist of it now.

“…And what do you do first?” she asked, a bit short of breath, butterflies turning by increments into rabid bees.

“I put my hands up your skirt and pull your knickers down. Slowly. And I touch your ankles when I take them off, because I think you like that.”

She swallowed, because suddenly her throat was sandpaper dry. And there was a slow-burning coal fire situated somewhere between her thighs, possibly, or that was how it felt.

“… And then…?” she encouraged him.

“I lie between your legs, on top of you, because I think you like that too, and I unzip your dress, and slip my hands under it and I undo your bra. And I kiss your back. You do that thing where you shiver a little, and do that noise, like you’re surprised.”

God. Her heart had done a thing.

“Are you hard?” she said.

“Fuck, yeah…”

She looked at his crotch. Yes, he was.

“Are you naked?” she asked.

“Hmm… Yeah?” he tried.

“So I can feel your skin all over me.”

He swallowed. “Yeah.” His hands were moving in his pockets.

”Where are my hands?”

“Hm…” He gave it some thought. “You’re gripping the sheets. Tight.”

“Am I horny?”

“Fuck, yeah, you’re rubbing yourself on the bed and begging me. It’s so fucking hot…”

She managed to hold back a whimper. She was clenching her thighs together, trying to put pressure on the throb of her cunt. She stood between his slightly splayed legs, one hand on each side of his body, and let her stomach fall gently on his crotch. Which he liked, judging by that gasp. Now, that’s a bit forwards, isn’t it, woman? She slipped her palms under his shirt. God, she loved the feel of that tight, smooth, supple body of his.

“Where are your hands” she asked, close to his ear, whispering. She saw goosebumps on the skin of his throat.

“Hm, I’m touching your boobs. No, wait, one hand on your boob and one between your legs, and I’m rubbing your…” He swallowed. 

Oh, Oakley, sweetheart.

“…My what?” she chuckled, against the shell of his ear, making him squirm.

“…You know, your…” 

Oh god, is he going pink?

“Say it…”

“Your pussy” he said, low and hot. 

Right, call the _vigili del fuoco_. This young man blushing as he names lady parts _in that tone_ is a fire hazard.

“Am I wet” she asked. Yeah, Oakley, no need to answer that.

“Very” he said, with a downright lewd smirk.

She had to swallow. Again.

“Where exactly are your fingers.”

“Er, I’m stroking your…” Oakley stopped.

“Clit” she aided, because carry on, young man, I’m _begging_ you. She was stroking her own breast distractedly. She didn’t know she was doing it.

“Yes,” he said, “with my index and middle finger, tracing circles as you like it, and I’ve got my thumb in… in your cunt.” 

Getting brave, aren’t we. He didn’t need prompting to carry on.

“And you’re like, like you can’t be still, and you push against me… And you beg me to fuck you.”

She licked her lip. Her breathing was fast and shallow now, and she was trying with all her might not to rut on his thigh like a dog.

Oakley is on a roll now.

“…I make you kneel up, and your arse is in the air, and I’m still touching your pussy, I have two fingers in now. And then I… I lick your…”

“My what?” One hand on her crotch now as well, her hips rolling. “My what?” Dammit man, I want to hear it.

“Your hole.” He flushes bright pink. She is about to _die_. “And I make you all wet with my tongue. And you’re moaning so loud everybody can hear you. And I take my cock in hand and I…” He stopped.

He was still quiet.

“Yes, Oakley…?” she said, heart beating madly, rabbit-fast.

“I want to…” he stumbled.

“Yes… say it, whatever…” Yes, man, whatever it is. He could fucking bring _horses_ into the conversation right now, she was so damned horny.

“I want to stick it in your…” he said, turning a deeper shade of red.

“Oh, god…” she gasped. Oh god indeed. 

Oakley opened his eyes, trying to assess if it was a good ‘oh god’ or a not-so-good ‘oh god’.

She was _panting_.

“Yes, god, fuck my arse” she said, with a moan.

“God, can I?” His eyes widened. “In the fantasy or…?”

“Yes.” She swallows. “No. In the, er, in the flesh” she said.

“Wow” he said, still reeling from the thought, and with a massive, straining boner.

”I want you to fuck me in every possible way” she said, breathy.

His turn to swallow now.

“Really?” A strangled voice.

“Oh yes” she said, pressing against him. 

“But not here?” he guessed.

“Right here” she said, unbuttoning his fly.

“Oh my god” he gaped, with a look that said “my lucky day!” and “quick, before she changes her mind” all in one glorious, eager, flustered mess.

Oh his god. 

She was biting her lip as she wiggled out of her knickers, under his wide-eyed gaze. She kissed him and spun them around, her back against the wall.

“Oh” he said, understanding where this was going. He helped her climb his hips, panting, lifting her skirt around her waist. Damn, those rocks were sharp. She was going to get scratched but… too late to re-think, the cold tip of his cock was already nuzzling at her slit.

“Do we have condoms?” she said, with what little voice she had.

“Not really” he said. 

“Well, don’t come inside me then” she said, and if he had an STD she just decided to trust the gods it was curable.

And there it was, slipping easily inside her, with her cunt starved for it, clenching around his shaft. 

“Oh fuck” he gasped, with a shudder, as she tightened her thighs around him. 

And he started fucking in and out, short thrusts, one hand holding her arse, the other on the wall, his mouth on her neck. 

“Roll your hips” she said.

Which he did, with an expression of utter agony. She was breathing deep and slow as he tormented with his hips. She licked the tip of her fingers and put them on her clit. She wasn’t stroking yet, just pressing, but if he was as turned on as he looked, he wouldn’t last. She wanted to drag it out a little, but not too much, because… Oh god, were those _voices approaching_?

“Shit” he said, turning his head. He had heard it too. “Shall I…?”

“Don’t you dare” she snapped, starting in earnest on her clit. “Just fuck me, Oakley, come on, fuck me.”

He looked somewhere between shock and marvel. He started pumping her with quick, forceful thrusts, focused on his own pleasure. Fine for once, it was her pleasure too. She flicked and stroked herself while he fucked harder and faster, hearing the voices getting louder and louder as they approached.

“Oh god Oakley” she moaned, almost there, almost there. “Oakley…”

He put a hand on her mouth, gagging her. Holy mother of fuck, she was _gone_. She came so hard, biting his fingers, her own muzzled moans sounding sexy in her own ears, and in his. He pulled back suddenly, and had a rocket orgasm in his hand, half curling on himself.

The voices were there. They looked at each other, alarmed. They could not be more obvious. 

She had a thought.

“Down!” she whispered, and pulled them both flat onto the ground, amid the tall undergrowth. 

Which did nothing for cover if anyone was to get near, but hey. 

They laid there, their breaths rushed from their fucking and from the thrill of the hunt, awaiting developments. The voices came nearer and nearer, just behind the wall of the abbey… and then they started to move away.

Two muffled sighs of relief.

Oakley smirked, come in his hand, his cargo pants around his ankles. She still had her dress around her waist,  all dusty and now sprinkled with bits of grass, she had scratches all over her arse and back, her hair was a mess, and where the heck had her knickers gone.

That was _fantastic_ , young man, she said, basically with her eyes.

When it felt safe and quiet again, they burst out laughing, and for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, whenever they looked at each other, they started laughing all over again. 

They never did find her knickers. She suspected Oakley had them, so she didn’t insist on getting them back.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband smoked for the first years of our relationship and he tasted sweet and fresh even in the mornings. I fucking swear.  
> I don't know Oakley, but I'm sure Tom tastes like dew and and moonlight when he wakes up. With a hint of unicorns.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever done it in a swimming pool?  
> And the OTHER thing, as promised (not that Oakley would ever let her forget about it!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be anal sex. Explicit.

 

She shooed Oakley out of her room last night. He wanted to sleep over, but she said she wanted to rest. His “fine not bothered” face had been cheek-pinchingly worthy. He did enjoy having the bed all to herself and simply not sharing. 

The next morning she didn’t ask, but she did gather from a word here and there that Oakley had left as soon as he got up. She wondered what that was about.

It was about midday when Oakley returned, finding her deep in discussion with Tim, Mathilde and Johanna about the singularities of the Tuscan region against the wider backdrop of the patchy Italian state. She didn’t so much say hello as acknowledge his presence with a side grin. (Her body offered a greeting of its own with a tingle in her pussy. He had turned her into Pavlov’s dog, apparently.)  He sat himself next to her on the bench and listened for some time, with a fag on his lips, contributing to the conversation nothing but his gorgeous, feather-rufflingly sexy self. 

After a while, his foot creeped in her direction and hooked around her calf, with a nudge. Again, her only reaction was quite involuntary, and it involved an area best left undisturbed in the kind of social situation she found herself in at that moment, unless one was alright with losing one’s train of thought again and again, until most of one’s discourse was taken up by one single line, to wit, “er, what was I saying?” 

Soon after, Oakley’s hand had found its way around her, specifically around her waist. Goosebumps occurred, and she was only relieved that the beat of her heart didn’t show on her face. She kept on discussing to what extent Italian culture, specifically that in the North, resembled or not French culture, specifically that in the South. And then Oakley nudged her shoulder. With his nose. To which she replied with a shiver that shook her from head to toe. After a second, he was nuzzling her neck.

“Oakley!” she gasped, more than a bit bothered. “I’m talking!”

Oakley huffed.

“Fine” he stood up and walked away, stomping. 

Tim, Mathilde, Johanna and herself exchanged puzzled looks and  a shrug, but she thought she counted two envious stares, and a shamelessly lewd one.

 

After a few minutes, she excused herself and went to look for him. The gazes she received were knowing this time. She wondered what Oakley’s parents would hear about this, and with what colourful additions. Mathilde in particular was a keen storyteller. Oh well.

She found Oakley dipping his legs in the pool, looking about ten years younger in his dejection. She sat next to him, took her sandals off, sunk her feet in the water too.

“Right, what was that all about” she said.

“What was what?” said he, sulking.

“Oh, Oakley, for the love of god…”

“You only pay attention to me when you want to fuck. I’m more than just a walking cock.”

Her eyes opened wide, bewildered.

“I can’t believe this” she muttered.

“You said that you don’t have an ‘on’ switch, that I had to seduce you and persuade you.” said Oakley, curtly. “That’s what I was doing.”

She sighed deeply. _Must not fall in love with this knucklehead, must not fall in love with this knucklehead_ …

“Where did you go this morning?” she asked.

Still sulking, though not so much now, he reached inside the depths of those knapsacks he had for pockets, and produced… a tube of intimate lubricant.

She bit a smirk that threatened to take over her whole face.

“Oh.”

“What” he snapped, still sore, bless him.

“Are you looking forwards to it then?” she asked.

He blushed a little, but put a dignified expression on it, and shrugged.

She nudged his shoulder with hers. 

“Have you ever done it before?” she asked.

“Not for lack of trying” he said.

She laughed.

“Have you?” asked Oakley then, eyes glinting.

She nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his taut, smooth, freckled throat. 

“Did you like it?”

She nodded again, and her eyebrow added some adverbs. 

“Can we…?” he asked.

“Not right now. It’s too hot” she said. Which it was. Too hot to go around doing floor gymnastics. “Why don’t we just…” 

She looked around. There was nobody about, the patio was deserted. Surely anyone might arrive at any moment, but… She took her top off, then her bra. Oakley’s eyes opened as wide as they could go. She stood up, took her shorts off, her knickers, and plunged into the water.

She emerged, wonderfully refreshed, her heart beating faster with the sudden cold. She gestured with her head for Oakley  to come in as well. He looked quite shocked, but Oakley being Oakley, it didn’t last. One Mississipi, two Mississipies, three Mississipies…

Oakley sprung up to his feet, off flew the shirt and the stupid cargo trousers, his pants, and he jumped in feet first with a huge splash.  

She floated with only her nose and eyes above the water, stalking him like a crocodile. 

“Have you ever done it in a pool?” he asked, swimming towards her.

She shook her head.

“And I’m not going to do it now” she grinned. Because there _have_ to be limits, …surely

He swam right by her, beautiful, his head back to let the water soak his curls, his throat arched, all its muscles and tendons in stark relief.

“Are you sure about that?” He floated on his back, his glorious stomach and chest emerging under the sun, his semi-hard cock breaking the surface, bobbing in the air, glistening with water. 

Dayum.

“Maybe when it’s dark” she said then, possibly licking her lips.

He dived in, his white, smooth arse popping out briefly, a kick and a splash. He swam towards her under water, and emerged right in front of her. He shook his head, spraying water around, wiped his face. She felt the bob of his hard cock stroking her thigh. His eyes were fixed on hers. Damn, he really had this eyefucking business down to an art form. Her heart beat faster.

He reached for her boob, kneaded it, thumbed her nipple gently. She was very sensitive, her nipples hard already from the cool water. It bordered on uncomfortable, but with his eyes on her like that, she had been finding lately that ‘almost-uncomfortable’ with Oakley did things to her nether regions that were not uncomfortable at all. She allowed him to explore her, kicking her feet slowly and keeping position with a smooth wave of her arms, still determined to keep it more or less decent. 

His hand skimmed down over her stomach —it felt so strange underwater, his hand warm but cold but warm— and hooked onto her crotch. His fingers brushed between her lips. She bit her lip.

“Careful. Water makes it dry” she said.

“How ironic.”

“Paradoxical, you mean.”

“Same thing.”

“Not really.” 

He was boring into her eyes with a heated glare, the water up to his nose. He took her hands and dragged her towards him. She floated slowly against the resistance of the water until she met his body, and wrapped her arms and legs around him, his fully hard cock trapped between their bodies. He groaned when she pressed herself closer. The bastard was so tall, his feet touched the bottom of the pool. 

“Dear me” she said, her heart racing, a low burn firmly settled high up between her thighs. He kissed him with everything she had, and he gave back as good as he got. She felt his cock twitching, as if trying to get free.

“I thought you said not until it gets dark” he mumbled against her mouth, when they stopped to breathe.

She wiggled her hips. His cock, free now, cold, nudged at her slit, hard as an iron rod.

“I’m regretting it already” she said, kissing him again. God, she loved his thin lips, his soft, crooked mouth, his tongue. Now that he had learned that less is more (for her personal taste anyway), he was a bloody delight. He really liked kissing, his eyelids heavy, his movements slow and sensual, that bit of teeth here and there.

Her hips were shifting, seemingly out of their own accord, searching, searching. He held his cock in place with one hand, with hooded, glazed eyes. Ah, there. Once you passed that dry outer ring, she was Monsoon wet. His cock slid in, gliding smoothly.

“Ah” she gasped, eyes fluttering. She pushed downwards, taking him fully inside her.

Oakley was biting his lip, his eyes now closed, and it was beautiful. She clenched around him, pressed their crotches together. 

“Ah, fuck” he sighed, his hands on her arse, pulling her close. Then he withdrew, and pushed in again.

“God, Oakley” she gasped, “we can’t fuck in the pool in the middle of the… ah, the… ah, the day…” But her hips kept rocking. What a tease you are, woman, she told herself. I can’t bloody help it, she answered herself too. It’s not teasing if you do it, said Herself Number Three.

He kissed her, one hand on her arse, another on the back of her head, his tongue so cool by comparison with the hot day.

“Yes we can” he said, breathy, circling his hips, his cock pushing and prodding inside her. “We are.”

“Oh god” she said, wrapping her thighs strongly. “Somebody could… ah… turn up at any…oh god… second…”

“Better get on with it then” he said. He tried to pump faster, but lost foot. “Damn.” 

With her arms and legs still clasped around him, and still sheathed inside her, he took long, forceful strides to the side of the pool. He anchored his hands on the border, smirking like the smuggest little shit. 

“That’s better” he said, and started rutting like a dog. 

She was shocked. And crumbling to a ruin.

“Oakley you’re…!” she was lost for words, but she was pushing back with her hips. 

“I’m what?” he cut, between gasps, fucking her.

“You’re terrible!” she said, clinging on tight, looking around frantically, knowing that, even if the whole house was to walk in on them right now, it would take a crowbar to split them apart.

“Oh, sorry” said Oakley. And he proceeded to modify his moves, snaking and circling his hips sensually, kissing her neck, her ear. “Better?”

Ok, that’s not what she meant but…

“Oh fuck… yes. Better. Oh god…” She couldn’t believe herself. “Oh my god, fuck me Oakley…”

Which he did. She couldn’t help but keep checking around, but ah, she would never in a million… ah… years be able to… oh fuck yes… stop now… if this was Herculaneum and… oh god YES!… Vesubius had just… _OH FUCK_ … erupted… 

“Oh Oakley, harder…”

“Like this?”

“Oh yes, please, oh god, oh my god, oh my fucking…” 

He was really going for it now, his eyes fixed on hers as she basically fell to pieces. The angle was just right, and she was so turned on by the whole scenario, she didn’t even need her (literally) sodding clit stroked. 

She thought he was on top gear, but he frowned, he groaned… and he started to fuck even faster. They were splashing. The thrust was superficial, quick, frantic. 

“Oh my god!” she cried, and started coming in HD and Dolby Surround. “AH!… ah… ah… oh god… oh fuck… oh god…”

He was still fucking, his face beautifully scrunched.

“Don’t come inside me” she reminded him.

“Ah, fuck. Can you…?” He pulled out, trembling, bang on the verge of orgasm.

Yes, she could. Still trapped between his arms, which were anchored on the side of the pool, his legs splayed and feet firmly set on the pool floor, she jerked him off, fast, twisting her fist, looking at his wonderful climax face. It didn’t take more than a few strokes.

“Ah! Fuck! …Fuck… Oh fuck… fuuuck…” He shook and shivered, panting. 

She did not want to let go of his cock. Never. Ever. God, look at that face.

She was ruined, wasn’t she? For life. 

Well, damn, it was worth it.

“What a mess” he panted. 

She kissed him.

 

*

 

He was at her door that evening, with the pot of lube ready in his hand. She shook her head in mock dismay, rolling her eyes… but she let him in. It _had_ cooled off after all. There was a fragrant breeze dancing with the white voile curtains.

The moment the door was shut behind him, he started shedding his clothes. 

“Why the rush? Where’s the fire?” she chuckled.

“In my pants” muttered Oakley, dropping them.

Stark bullock naked and semi-hard, he crowded her against the bed, kissing her like the world was going to end, trying to get her out of her clothes as fast as he could. Usually, she would have told him to take it easy and slowly and all that… but the hunger and the hurry to get inside her was a thrill and a huge turn on all on its own. 

She had to help a little. She enjoyed how he ran his mouth down her body, briefly (and rather voraciously) stopping on her nipple, as he helped her out of her knickers. They were kissing and groping and rubbing together like a pair of randy teenagers.

“Oakley, darling, you know you… just can’t stick it… in, do you? You need to… prepare me” she said, between kisses.

“Prepare you how?” he panted.

“Open me up, making sure I’m aroused and relaxed” she said against the skin of his throat.

“Like how” he said, cocking his head for her kisses.

She turned around, her back to him, rubbing herself against his naked body. She grabbed his hands and put one on her breast, and another one on her crotch. She tilted her head for him to kiss her neck.

“I want you to make me so horny I leave burn marks on the mattress” she mumbled, with his mouth on the sensitive skin under her ear. She kept guiding his hands on her, making him knead her breast, hook tight on her pussy. She was circling her hips and pushing back against his cock, trapped in the cleft of her arse.

“Oh fuck” he muttered.

“I want you to fuck me all night” she said, making him press his hand strongly onto her.

“ _Ah_ …”

“I want you to come inside me… And then turn me around, and fuck me again…”

His hand squeezed her breast hard, making her wince. His hand on her crotch just got tighter and tighter. He shifted it, seeking her slit with his fingers. She rubbed and pushed her arse against his cock, humming, breathing heavily.

“God, fuck, I need some…” He let her go, moved away. “This is… whoa” he said, a lovely pink flush all over his neck and chest, his cock achingly hard and leaking.

She grinned. And climbed onto the bed on all fours. 

“Fuck” she heard Oakley say behind her… back. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”

“I want you to lick me, and touch me, and finger me.”

“Yeah, alright, I get the picture.”

“Well, go on then.”

She assumed position, bum in the air, turning her head back to see.

He stood behind her, pushed his cock against her perineum, lightly. He was so, so hard.

“Oakley…”

“I was just…”

She felt him move back there. 

“Spread your knees” he said, pushing her thighs apart, his hand on her pussy, slick middle finger between the lips.

“Hmmm…” She closed her eyes, turned her head away. She wanted to be surprised.

He massaged her clit gently. Her breathing was getting heavier as all the blood in her body flowed to where his touch was calling. She rested her chest on the mattress so that more of her was exposed to him. She was rewarded with a slow, hot tongue licking from her cunt to her arse in one long lap.

“Oh, yes…” she mumbled. “Again.”

He obeyed. He parted her labia with his fingers and pushed his tongue in to reach her clit. Partially covered and caved in as it was, it was more a tease than anything else, but when he slid his long, clever fingers in her cunt, and pushed against her g-spot…

“Ah, fuck” she sighed, clenching around him, moving her arse, his fingers in and out of her, his tongue teasing her hole. 

“Damn, you’re so smooth here” His hot breath in that very rarely remembered area felt exhilaratingly new. 

“Where’s the lube?” she said, panting, fucking melting, gagging for it now.

“Here in my… wait.” He got up to rummage in his clothes. 

“You’ve got it? Tell me you’ve got it.” She still had her eyes closed.

Oakley returned, his warmth on her skin and the dip in the mattress giving away his position.

“Your fingers first” she said. “Open me up slowly.” Her arse kept circling in the air. She was so horny, just the movement alone was enough to create a low simmer of stimulation. 

A cold sensation around her hole, then an intrusion. “Ah” she gasped, gripping the sheets tight. It burnt slightly. “In and out” she said. “Stroke my clit.”

Pressure as he withdrew and pumped in again, added to the sharper pressure on her clit. 

“That ok?” he asked, finger fucking her hole slowly and continuously, the left hand clumsily and deliciously fumbling her clit.

“Hmmmm yes…” She never stopped with her hips, and clenching around him no matter where he was. “Another finger” she said. 

Oakley withdrew completely for a second, and the increased nudging returned, with more lube. 

It was indecently hot. She was whimpering against the mattress. She was dying to be fucked. It still burnt a bit, she would have to wait a liiiiittle bit more. 

He kept fucking in and out. By his own initiative, he started kissing the small of her back. She purred into it. 

A few more minutes of that treatment and she was in ruins, desperate.

“Oh, fuck, Oakley…” She was in tatters. “Fuck me now. Just take it easy.”

She heard rustling, then a cold, hard, slicked, fleshy tip against her arse. Oakley aligned his cock, took himself in hand and pushed. 

“Ah, stop” she said when the head was in.

“Ok?”

“Yes, just a minute.” She reached between her legs and stroked her clit. She couldn’t really get a good flick like that, but some nice, slow pressure to counter the slight burn would do. “Yes, go ahead…”

He pushed in a bit more. The burning sensation was still there but it had eased; now there was the fill. It took adjusting. 

She heard him hiss as his cock kept entering her. When he was in balls deep, he whimpered. It was sweet.

“Fuck” he gasped. “It’s tight.”

“Better be” she mumbled to herself.

“Shall I…?”

“Just wiggle a bit inside me. Move.”

He did. Yes, yes, yes, she thought, as her body responded. Her cunt felt so painfully empty. She would probably not come just from this, but she would have a lot of fun trying.

“Ok, move.”

He sounded very relieved. He started thrusting in and out, not too fast and not too deep at first, but increasingly so as nature took his course and his arousal escalated.

“Ah, fuuuuuck” she heard him say. He had his hands firmly gripping her hips, pulling her against him as he fucked her, slow, deep and hard. The clash reverberated all inside her, shooting electricity up her spine.

“Oh god…” she moaned.

He was fucking faster now, his sweat dripping onto her back, his panting interrupted by a moan now and then. Her whole body was rocking back and forth. 

“Is it good?” he said, breathy.

“Hmmm…” she said, bracing herself on the mattress as best she could. If he wasn’t gripping her hips so hard she would be eating the headboard by now. “Ah, yes…”

His stamina was remarkable. All the fucking they were doing was prolonging his endurance. Paradise…

“Are you close?” he asked after some time, husky, voice thick.

“Hmm… no.” She had had an idea. “Stop.”

“What?”

She got up on her knees, still impaled on him. 

“Let’s try this.” She leaned forward, propping herself on the headboard, both of them standing on their knees. 

“What do you want?” he asked, panting.

She started fucking herself on him, while putting one hand on her pussy. She slid her fingers inside herself to press on her g-spot.

“Fuck me Oakley” she said, one hand on the headboard, the other on herself. She was stroking her clit now.

He started fucking her again, slowly. They fell into step eventually, their bodies clashing now nice and hard.

“Hnnng” grunted Oakley.

“Fuck yes” she said, increasing the pace of her strokes. 

He leaned backwards, propping himself on his long arms, and letting his hips do the dancing. Quite acrobatic. “Oh my god” she said. “I’m so close now… Please Oakley… Ah…”

“I’m gonna come” he said, his voice strangled.

“God, just a bit more… Just a bit more… Oh god, Oakley…”

“God I…”

“Almost there, fuck, fuck… Oh god yes…”

“I’m coming, god, I’m coming…”

She stroked herself faster, fucked herself harder…

“Oh yes!” she cried, orgasm gripping her finally. “Oh god! Oh god… oh god…” She kept snaking her hips, slowly now, her body tightening around him. 

He was moving slowly at her back too, jolting, gasping, pumping his come inside her between sudden shivers. 

Aaaaand they were still, stuck to each other like two knotted dogs, breathing heavily. 

How athletic.

She disengaged herself, feeling the pinch. 

Oakley crumbled boneless on the bed, eyelids heavy, sight unfocused.

“Was it what you expected?” she asked, lying beside him.

“Hnnnngh…” he, er, replied, his eyes drifting on the rafters above their heads.

Fair enough. She smirked.

 

After they both had washed, they laid on the bed, smoking. 

“Oakley, have you ever been in a threesome?”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One, two, three...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that tag! I LOVE the new tag!

“Oakley, have you ever been with another boy?” she said, as she idly threaded one of his curls around her index finger.

There was a very distinct lack of abrupt denial on Oakley’s part. Well, well, well!

“You have?” she gasped, with delight, her cunt already tingling at the mere thought.

“Ehm…” 

“Tell me.”

“Er, it was nothing really” he said, with a light blush. “Just… you know, jerking each other off when, you know, it was not easy to get girls to do it. I was like… thirteen? fourteen?”

She took a moment. Right, no. That was definitely _too_ young. Not even sexy. It would not do.

“…Why do you ask?” he said.

“I have always wanted to be with two men at once.”

“…Really?”

She nodded, smiling dreamily.

“Right” he said. “Not with another girl?”

She pondered that.

“Hum, I wouldn’t mind. I’m open to trying new things. But what I really want is two men.”

“Two cocks.”

“Yes.”

“At the same time.”

She smirked. “The possibilities are endless.”

He seemed to be giving that some consideration, bless his mischievous little heart. She put her hand on his never-ending thigh and stroked up and down the taut muscle, pinching a hair every now and then.

“Wouldn’t you like to be with two girls?” she asked then.

He brightened up, pulled his little twisted smirk.

“Fuck, yeah” he said.

“What would you do?”

He looked at the ceiling, thinking about it.

“They could suck you both at once” she offered. “The one could carry on when the other one started to get tired. It could last a while…” Longer than you, probably, she did not say.

“Oh yes.” He liked that thought. His eyes twinkled.

“Or one could sit on your face while the other rides your cock” she suggested. 

Ah, he liked that idea too. Look at that grin. She kept stroking his thigh. Hand up, hand down, hand up, hand down.

“Or maybe, you could 69 with one while the other is rimming you” she said. “I don’t know if it’s anatomically possible but we could try.”

He gulped.

“Yeah, that sounds… good.”

“Hmmm…” she pondered. “Or they could get it on with each other.” 

“Fuck yes” he gasped, his pupils physically dilating before her very eyes. This was rather fun.

“You could be fucking one up the arse while the other fingers her and licks her pussy… Or the one you’re fucking could be doing the licking and fingering. On all fours on top of the other.”

“…Damn…” he said, breathy, his cock twitching. It had been less than twenty minutes, Oakley, for god’s sake.

“What if it was a man” she said.

“What?”

“You’re fucking the girl up one hole, and the other man is fucking the other.”

“…Hm. Yeah” he conceded.

“Or what if you’re on top of her, fucking her, and the man is rimming you…”

He gulped, again, a bit squeaked.

“You like rimming don’t you” she said.

“…Yes…” he accepted.

“Imagine you’re fucking me… and then a tongue there…”

He swallowed. His cock was definitely getting plump. This boy!

“Then one finger… finds your prostate…”

He swallowed some more, his breathing picking up.

“While you’re fucking me…” She stroked his balls. “Fingers feel nice, but a cock…” 

“Er, no” he said.

She would not relent. She kept rolling his balls in her hand as his cock started to rise.

“I’d love to see you being fucked” she whispered close to the shell of his ear. “It would be the hottest thing.”

He frowned, with a shiver. She took his hardening cock in hand.

“I can imagine it. I’m on my back, you’re on top of me… The weight and the strength of two men, his thrust making you fuck harder… Your face while you fuck me frantically because his cock up your arse is driving you insane…”

He was still frowning as she started kissing down his chest, all the way to his cock. He took him in her mouth, sucked hard. He whimpered.

“I could be sucking you while you ride him” she said, licking the crown. “You won’t believe how good it feels, to be filled like that…” Tongue flicking the frenulum. “I’d love to see you fuck him. You’re so fucking good at it. I would just sit and watch and _burn_ while you ruin him for the rest of mankind…” Yes, ok, she was not above some flattery. Not if it worked. 

She sucked hard again, and he squirmed.

She made him lift one knee up and hold it folded against his body. She licked his hole, melting with the sounds he made. Sweet boy, so receptive, so greedy. 

She slid one finger inside him while she sucked him, and he was desperate for it. He did not come instantly upon being entered like last time, oh no. He took her in, biting his lip, his face unhinged and scrunched, and she did not just stroke his prostate. She fucked with her fingers and he loved it. He came so hard. 

And then repaid her in kind, eating her out and fingering her. And all she could think of was Oakley writhing and moaning with a cock up his arse. She came pretty damn hard herself.

 

 

“…Right” he said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “If, er, if I can get another boy, would you…? Would you do it with a girl? With me and a girl?” 

“Absolutely” she said, without a thought.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Would you… do the girl? Eat her out?”

“For you, my dear, I would.”

“Ok. …Wow.”

“But I don’t see how you’re going to manage" she said, stretching on the mattress. "This is the kind of thing people put advertisements on the internet for” 

“…Yeah. Well” he harrumphed. “You know Jack? He’s the one we used to…”

She opened her eyes wide.

“…Wank with?” she completed.

Oakley cleared his throat.

“Yeah.” He opened his mouth again, stopped himself, shut it.

“Yes?”

“Ehm… And kiss, sometimes.” That blush! The pretty English rose! “So he might not be completely _averse_. To, you know.” Ohhh those rosy cheeks on that serious, serious face. He hollowed his cheeks around his cigarette, sucking deep, and she had _thoughts_.  “Though he’d probably want in when you, er, do the girl.”

“Oakley!” she gasped in mock dismay. “I hope your parents never find out.”

“What, that you’re corrupting their boy and all his friends?” he grinned.

“No, that their golden boy is corrupting his friends all on his own.” 

He smiled, mischief on his face, looking ten years younger. She was almost about to pinch his cheeks. 

“What about the girl?” she said.

“Er, Clarice?” he suggested.

“Clarice hates me.”

“She’s just jealous” he said, dismissive.

She gave that an eyebrow and a half. Somebody was full of himself!

“What, she is!” he exclaimed, with a shrug.

He was probably right, the jackass.

“Find someone else” she said. “This is supposed to be fun.”

His naughty expression said it _would_ be fun. For _him_. Not when you get your cock fucking _bitten_ it won’t.

“Hm. Ok then. I’ll think about it. But, about the boy” he said, now getting serious. “We can do you both together, but I won’t promise anything will go up my arse, ok?”

She smiled, already feeling the flutter under her navel.

“We’ll only do what you want to do” she promised. “Just tell me you’ll be… open. To new experiences.”

He raised his eyebrow, well aware of the pun.

“Fair enough.”

The flutter became a hot churn.

 

*

 

“He’ll do it” muttered Oakley right into her ear, at lunch time. “Tonight.”  He was blushing but putting a nonchalant expression on it. Although those red, red ears looked as if they were in flames.

She turned her eyes back to her plate, with a dreamy sigh. A shit-eating grin settled on her face, and there would be no wiping it out until the evening. She could barely sit still for the excitement, and the other things. Could you blame her?

 

*

 

Alright, this was awkward. They were all standing up in the middle of the room like lemons.

“So, how do we do this?” said Jack, after a soft harrumph.

She was nervous herself, a bit shaky. But somebody had to keep cool and take the initiative.

“Why don’t we just… get started, and you can join us whenever you feel comfortable?” she suggested.

Jack looked at Oakley for… approval, presumably, and nodded.

“Any rules? Any absolute no’s?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. Oakley?”

He hesitated, gave it a thought. Her eyes on him. _You promised_.

He huffed.

“I guess not. I’ll… er, I’ll let you know. And… you?”

Jack gave that some thought, blushed bright red, shrugged and shook his head no.

“Alright” said Oakley.

“Right, ok” said Jack, and gulped, and gulped again, at a loss about what to do with his hands.

“Alright” she said. Somebody please do something. This was _not_ sexy. 

Wait! An idea! 

“…Why don’t we…?” she turned off the big light, turned on the bedside lamp, and draped her linen scarf over it. The atmosphere became instantly warmer and more intimate. “Better?”

Oakley and Jack nodded.

“Better” said Oakley.

“Definitely better” agreed Jack. 

They looked bloody adorable. She suppressed the urge to smile with endearment.

Ok. A little less conversation, a little more action, please. She walked up to Oakley and pulled him down for a kiss. That was good, that was fine, charted territory. He worked her mouth with his newly acquired expertise, with abundant tongue, but not in excess. She loosened up when his hands started caressing her through her clothes, down her back, on her arse, with a grope. And then his palm on her breast, massaging, rubbing, and the other stroking down her stomach, down, down, down, and anchoring between her legs, putting pressure on. Nice.

She was breathing hard, feeling herself getting wet, cunt throbbing, and spying Jack out of the corner of her eye. His mouth was parted, his chest heaving, squirming, his weight from one foot to the other. It must be weird to be given permission to watch something so intimate. She wondered if she would get a chance to _watch_ too.

She took Oakley’s shirt off and started to kiss his skin, while his hands stroked her hair, her neck. She liked fishing for his freckles. She liked his small dark nipples too, and how his eyes got hooded and glazed when she played on them with her tongue and pinched them with her lips. She loved his neck, and the wisp of hair on his chest, and the happy trail under his navel. She palmed it all the way down and under his pants, making his breathing shudder. She slid her hand deeper inside his clothes and felt for his cock, found it hard and twitching under her touch. As she pulled him down for a kiss again, she clamped her hand around it and pumped it slowly and gently, because her hand was dry after all. Oakley’s mouth was barely moving, his attention further south. His eyes darted a few times to Jack. 

It was then she felt Jack’s mouth at the nape of her neck, hot and soft, and she shivered, a plunge in her stomach. Come on, girl, it's what you wanted. She crooked one hand around Jack’s neck, turning her head for his kiss. He was restraining his tongue, perhaps unsure about how far he was allowed to go. Go for it, woman. She slid her tongue in his mouth, to encourage him. Jack’s hands rested on her hips, hesitating at first, then rubbing his thumbs gently on the bone and the soft part of her waist. Soon enough, they were cupping her breasts and squeezing, as he rubbed his hard-on against her arse. Well, aren’t we eager. Nineteen year-olds, eh? 

Having said that… It was the hottest thing. Jack was hard, and Oakley was hard, all that flesh prodding and nudging, hungry for her, aching to get inside her.

Jack started kissing her neck and her ear, one of his hands on her waist, the other massaging her butt. Oakley’s mouth went for her still-clothed breast then, the sheer material getting damp from his breathing alone. He scrunched up her dress over her waist and slid his hands under the fabric, all the way up and under the lacy cups of her bra, and kneaded. She moaned and pulled him closer, Oakley’s thigh nudging between her legs, and she rutted slowly on it, whimpering into Jack’s mouth. 

It was bloody intoxicating. She was so aroused her head felt light. She did not know who got her dress off and who undid her bra, but soon enough she was down to her panties between those two _kouroi_ whose mouths and hands were _everywhere_ , two hard cocks like iron rods against the soft flesh of her arse and stomach. 

She turned around to face Jack and kiss him, while Oakley’s mouth descended from the crook of her neck, all down her spine, and to the cleft of her arse, giving her goosebumps, making her squirm and shudder. He dragged her knickers down, all the way to her ankles, and even with Jack’s tongue prodding in her mouth quite distractingly, she managed enough coordination to step out of them. Oakley’s stroked up her legs, his lips on the sensitive skin behind her knees, and his hands climbed up, up, up the inside of her thighs, until they made port. He massaged her buttocks, and then he parted them, and she felt his tongue on her hole. Jack stopped kissing and gasped.

“Fuuuck” he said, his eyes peering over her shoulder. 

Oakley carried on with what he was doing. She angled her hips and wrapped one leg around Jack's thigh for better access, her own breathing shuddery, her legs shaky. She grabbed Jack’s hand and put it over her crotch, kissing his neck, sliding her tongue in his ear, hearing him whimper. She felt almost guilty, because she was doing all of that to him imagining it was Oakley, two Oakleys working her, tearing her to pieces. Jack was handsome and charming, but ah, that kid that was tonguing her arse was something else altogether… She guided Jack's hand until he got what she wanted -his middle finger entering her cunt. 

“Ah” she gasped, as she made him press with his palm on her clit. 

Soon enough, she felt Oakley’s finger entering her from the back, and her knees went weak. It was overwhelming. She was squirming, the different paces and pressures of the two fingers so bloody bewildering. Her body didn’t know where to focus, and it had given up trying. She was shivering, panting, little squeaky moans when Jack kissed her ear and squeezed her breast, fucking, fucking, a breathy, faintly whimper when Oakley slid a second finger in, the minimal burn just adding a mind-blowing edge to the fucking volcano she had going between her legs.

She didn’t want to break the lovely moment they had created, but her legs were going to give. And she was desperate for more.

“Bed” she said, croaky voice —her throat was so dry from all that panting. “Now.”

Yes, the spell broke somewhat when the two boys pulled out of her body to do as they were bid, and Oakley got on his feet again, and went shy on her for a second. 

She sat on the bed, completely naked, hair a mess, crotch throbbing, and had a chance to take in the sight of the two delightful, partially clothed, extremely hard young men she had somehow managed to get herself for her own pleasure. She bit her lip with hooded eyes. Damn. She figured she owed her soul to someone for that.

“Will you kiss?” she asked. 

“What, him?” said Jack.

She nodded, still biting her lip. 

The boys looked at each other timidly. Jack looked down, blushing. Oakley rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake” he grumbled. He grabbed Jack’s neck and kissed him. And kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him some more. With tongue. With _relish_. Oakley’s hands were cupping the back of Jack’s head, and for some reason she thought that was the cutest thing. Jack caught up soon enough, kissing back, shoving his tongue in too, his hands on Oakley’s waist, and, oh my god, over Oakley’s arse… Get a hold of that grope! The thing her cunt did at the sight was not decent.

Oakley pushed Jack away, a bit abruptly, and turned to her, lips puffy and pink.

“Yeah?” he asked, as in _‘happy now?’_   Not very nice, Oakley. But oh, the flush on his neck and cheeks was the hottest thing of all. Followed closely by his tented trousers.

“Oh yes” she smirked.

He walked over to the bed, pushed her onto her back rather forcefully, eager to have her how he wanted her. _Damn_. He undid his trousers, and with a quick look over his shoulder, he pushed them down, along with his pants, and laid on top of her. So, shit was getting serious. 

Oh my goodness, she thought, his cock rock hard just by her cunt. So, that spell of boy-kissing had not exactly put Oakley _off_. The boy was pure sex. Maybe he could really be _persuaded_ … She wrapped her legs around him, kissing him with hunger. She fucking _adored_ him. His cock slid inside just like that, she was that wet. He started thrusting leisurely. 

“Jack…” she called, as Oakley fucked her. He wasn’t going for it, just strolling aimlessly, enjoying the ride. She guessed he realised there was so much more they could do, rather than make her come like that. He trembled with the urge to really fuck her, but he was holding back. He was learning. Her stud.

Jack came to bed, shedding his clothes as he did. He was lean and smooth as well, delicate, his shoulders narrower, the curls around his cock darker and thicker than Oakley’s, the golden boy. He was British white, pure driven snow, pink on his arms, around his neck and shoulders. Pretty, very very pretty. He laid on the bed next to them, a bit shy. He was not as big as Oakley, but he had nothing to be shy about. 

She shoved Oakley off and out of her. The boys were keeping their eyes low, or away somewhere, perhaps trying not to see the other’s, er, intentions. She kneeled on the bed, between Jack’s thighs, stroking the softer flesh of the inner sides, kneading just below his sack. She cupped his balls, making him squirm, and rolled them in his hand. Now Oakley _was_ watching, with glassy eyes. She kept toying with Jack’s sack as she leaned over him, bum in the air, and took him in his mouth. Jack gasped and quivered as she licked up and down his shaft, with special attention to the crown. She pulled the foreskin back to suck there, and Jack moaned. Out of the corned of her eye, she was quite certain she had spotted Oakley licking his lips. He watched them for some time, feeling himself. She reached for Oakley’s cock, tightened her fist around it, thumbing the head. Talk about multitasking. 

Eventually, Oakley got away. She went on with sucking and licking Jack’s cock, thinking about how different the boys smelled, under the dominant undercurrent of musk and, well, cock.

And as she was busy with that, she felt Oakley rubbing lube on her hole, and soon after, his slicked-up cock pushing in. 

“Ahhh” she breathed, and hollowed her cheeks around Jack’s cock. 

Jack had a look of… well, frankly, he looked alarmed, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping. Oakley was fucking slowly, rolling his hips. His feet were on the floor, he could really go hard if he decided to. Her whole body rocked over Jack, her mouth losing grip. With Oakley fucking her like that, and Jack’s expression of awe and wonder, it was bloody hard to concentrate. It was _beautiful_. She stopped the blow-job to enjoy the fucking. She caught Jack’s expression, taking hers in.

“Ah _fuck_. Oakley, get off” she said. She could not make herself wait another minute longer.

Oakley shoved once more and pulled out, with a groan.

She laid on the bed on her side.

“Come here” she told Jack, throwing one leg around his waist. “Where are the condoms” she said, her voice breathy with lust. 

Oakley’s hand appeared over her shoulder with a silver packet, already ripped at the corner. So thoughtful. She gripped Jack’s cock —oh, his eyes!— and rolled the condom on him. Then she guided him to her cunt and pushed his hips down to take him in. She snaked her hips to feel him, Jack’s expression now kind of pained with arousal.

“Oakley, come here” she said, patting the space on the bed to her back.

Oakley got it really fast. She felt the dip in the bed, some rustling as he positioned his body and lined himself up, and then was there and pushing inside her in next to no time. And now she was impaled on two cocks, overheated from two young hot bodies all around her. She was so _full_. Oakley’s hand cupped her breast, squeezed, then slid down to her stomach. Jack’s arm was on her hip. And then the two boys were moving, not too fast, not in time.  They were moaning and gasping and whimpering, their breath and their smell all over her. The boys legs had tangled somewhat, trying to get closer. _So much flesh._  

“God…” she sighed, with blaspheme thoughts about heaven and all its angels, as she was being fucked up both holes. Nobody so much as breathe on her clit or she would come. And she didn’t want to come. Not yet. Not fucking _ever_. 

Oakley was pulling out almost completely and then shoving back in, the friction divine, his hand on her hip, the other one under his head. She could hear the desperate little noises he was making right by her ear, and it was…. goodness, it was un-bloody-bearable. She didn’t even know where Jack’s hand was right now. She squeezed her leg around him and sought his mouth for a kiss. 

At one point, Jack started to follow Oakley’s movements, matching his pace and speed. They couldn’t move all that much, but they didn’t really need to. She heard herself moan wantonly as those two eager cocks met inside her body, stimulating everything that was capable of responding, all at once. 

“Oh god, oh god…”

She opened her eyes to Jack’s unhinged expression, turned her head to Oakley’s scrunched up brow, his thin, lovely mouth gaping, his blue eyes locking on hers suddenly. It felt like lightning. He kissed her, sucking on her bottom lip, meeting her tongue. If anyone was taking petitions, this is how she wanted to die. Damn, she just might.

Oakley started snapping his hips, his thrusts sharper, and harder. When Jack started doing the same, she yelped. She mouthed the name of a couple of deities, but no sound came out. Oakley gripped her hip firmly to fuck faster, Jack anchored himself on her butt, the boys arms tangled. 

She was seeing white. My sweet fucking baby Jesus on a surfboard, that orgasm! It was all over the damn place! She moaned so loud they probably heard her in Pisa, squirming and twisting at first, and then staying completely still as her boys kept fucking. The pleasure peaked, and she could swear there had been actual living fireworks in the general area where she was being ravaged.

“Oh my _god_!” she squealed, very still, rigid, as the boys thrusts shook her and swayed her, the bed squeaking and groaning. She found her clit and stroked herself because… yes, there was life down there still, god fucking dammit! She started to come again very quickly, panting short, frantic little breaths, her whole body rocking as the boys pushed and fucked, chasing their own release.

She was still stroking herself gently when they climaxed. Jack came first, moaning, his hand digging into the soft flesh of her arse. Oakley groaned, thrusting deep, jolting, his damp forehead against her shoulder. Both Jack and her shook with Oakley’s last thrusts. It was the hottest thing she had ever seen. 

 

It took a while to come down from that stratospheric high. She was quite positive she was ruined for ever. It had met and exceeded her wildest dreams. But believe it or not, with the boys’ agitated breathing on her bare, goose-bumpy skin, their faces unhinged and drowsy, in spite of her body being completely sated, all her mind could think was _more_. 

Not just yet though.

Jack pulled out first, to deal with the condom. He looked a bit groggy. Oakley sought her mouth to kiss her before he pulled out himself. She had the distinct impression that he was _claiming_ her. Oh, Oakley, my sweet, claim away… That boy owned her, it was that simple. Her own private golden sex god.

 

Oakley got up from bed to wash, and she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, so well fucked her mind seemed to float. 

Jack had dealt with the condom and he laid there, looking dazed. He barely knew her of course. It _was_ a bit awkward. She tried to think of something to say. 

Oh, fuck it. She turned on her side and kissed him, slowly and leisurely. Much easier. He responded. She heard the floor creak and then silence. Oakley was back. 

“Hey” he said. 

Ah, _jealous_. She smirked in spite of herself. She beckoned him to the bed. 

The night was young. And her boys, younger.

 

 

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's worth the wait.

 

The thing with Oakley was that explosive combination of immaturity with sprinkles of world-weary, old-soul cynicism, and an ego the size of Canada. At times it was a right pain in the arse, and a source of second-hand embarrassment, and at times it was tremendously sexy, and a hell of a lot of fun. Right now, she wasn’t sure which one it was. Perhaps both. 

When the golden boy had lied down next to her again, he had made sure to get all her attention, pushing Jack away and claiming her mouth all to himself. So which one was that, then? Second-hand embarrassment, check. Gonads on fucking _fire_ for him, check too. She had not even known it was possible to experience both emotions for the same bloody person _at the same bloody time_. But hell, that’s Oakley for you. She caught Jack’s expression out of the corner of her eye (while dealing with a mouth full of Oakley’s tongue) and she thought that he might be thinking the exact same thing. 

The other tiny little thing with Oakley was… Sweet baby Jesus on a waffle, he was getting hard _again_. He should be out of commission for at least another ten minutes, shouldn't he? The boy was inexhaustible. She felt the twitching of his cock against the soft flesh of her thighs, so enticing, and slipped her hand between their bodies to reach for it. He responded in kind, planting a hand on her crotch and pressing until she was throbbing. She really wanted to know if he could get a full erection so soon after coming. She was acquainted with his body’s reactions quite well by now, so she knew the short-cuts to his cock. She went for his glorious neck, letting his sunny, youthful scent intoxicate her, with brief, targeted detours to his ears. He pressed against her. His cock, trapped between them, tugged and pulsed, definitely alive and kicking. Hmmm… His own mouth on her neck was doing a considerable amount of damage. And all of that, while Jack watched, passive in all but his eyes, which were gleaming and mesmerised. 

Another thing with Oakley was that _Oakliness_ seemed catching. Jack had looked pretty much at sea at the beginning of the night, shy and hesitating and nervous, but will you just look at him now, eyes fixed on Oakley’s face with an expression of unabashed lust, as if he owned him, all shyness gone, all nerves out the window, his self-confidence now on full whack. As for herself, Oakley had rubbed on her in many ways, and not just in the literal sense. She only half recognised herself in the wanton creature who, for days now, had seemed to have little else but sex on her mind, constantly seeking different, new, more outrageous ways to try and ruin her partner. She wondered if she had unleashed upon him anywhere near the same level of destruction as he had on her. Because ruined, she was. For life, and quite irreparably. How the hell do you top this last week, and this bloody kid. 

From Interested, Oakley had grown to Very Interested, and now that she had rolled them over to suck at his nipples and massage his balls at the same time, he was reaching the point of In Bloody Raptures. And god fucking dammit, wasn’t his fully erect cock a thing to behold, less than twenty minutes after his orgasm.

Beheld it she did, feeling her mouth water. Jack agreed wholeheartedly with her sentiment, if his expression right now was any clue. His eyes were glazed, his tongue showing between parted lips, and he was looking more and more Interested himself, stroking his own cock lazily. She resumed her descent down Oakley’s body, finding a nice spot to stop the moment she felt his knee against her cunt. The tip of Oakley’s cock was cold on her cheek. She nudged it with her nose, then a light touch of lips. It contracted and twitched under her attentions. The tip of her tongue on the frenulum, and Oakley jolted. As she flicked her tongue slowly side to side, he moaned between gritted teeth, such a hot, sultry sound. She spied Jack licking his lips, his eyes from Oakley’s cock to his face, and back again. Her pussy was reacting to Jack’s obvious lust with a full compliment of hot pins and needles and rhythmic contractions, aching for cock. 

Long, slow, tortuous laps from the base to the top, along the underside. Oakley was hissing. As tension made him clench his arse, his stomach rippled, his hips rose, and his cock nudged the back of her mouth. Every now and then, he threw a skittish look at Jack. The angle was demanding, but there was a little journey of discovery going on up there, and she did not want to miss it. She wasn’t sure what Oakley’s thoughts might be, since at the moment his expression was basically awash with lust and scrunched up with pleasure. The first time he met Jack’s eyes, Oakley looked away very quickly, and tensed up. For an instant, she wondered what would happen. Would he push him away? Would he call it off? Was he feeling awkward? Second time, Oakley held Jack’s stare, and how. As if he was proving a point, that’s how. He had stared at her like that before they had first gone to bed, when he was seducing her. He knew the power of his eyefuck, and he was not afraid to use it. What the fuck was going on up there? 

She sucked hard, Oakley’s eyelids drooped. This was the moment that Jack chose to put one hand on Oakley's chest. Oakley locked eyes with him. Would he shove him off? It seemed Jack was waiting for a reaction too. It wasn’t coming. Oakley was still staring at him, daring him, his chest swelling with his shallow, quickened breathing. Jack brushed his fingers lightly all the way down to Oakley’s navel, and when Oakley had not told him to fuck off, he strayed lower still, until his fingers threaded with Oakley’s pubes. Oakley’s underbelly contracted (she felt the tug of his cock in her mouth), and then, almost accidentally, Jack brushed the base of his cock.

Oakley and Jack were now having a staring competition. There was a lot going on there without one word.  Jack looked so eager. This had been a long time coming, hadn’t it, darling? Had he dreamed about this ever since those mutual hand-jobs when they were kids?

Oakley looked at her then, and bloody hell, she felt it in her spine. 

She wanted more. More of this, all of this. Just, _more_.

She kneeled up and reached for her scarf on the bedside table, warm from having been covering the lamp. The clarity in the room became brighter. She held the scarf up, showing it to Oakley.

“May I?” 

There was a moment of doubt, in which she felt they may have reached breaking point. Oakley darted another quick glance at Jack, whose hand was still on Oakley’s underbelly.

Would he let her? Would he go for it? 

His chest was heaving quickly, a mixture of nerves and excitement.

He nodded. 

Oh my god, she thought, as she did her best to keep her cool, and climbed up the bed to blindfold him. 

“Close your eyes.”

Oakley was pliant, if skittish. She saw his Adam’s apple bob in the long, beautiful column of his neck. The tug she gave to the knot was firmer than it had to be. Damn, why did _that_ do things to her. Who are you, woman!

Oakley was blind now, he couldn’t see who was doing what. He should be able to guess, if they took turns and gave him a second to think, but soon it was clear that neither Jack nor her intended to keep this tidy. They exchanged a mischievous look, and they dived in. She plunged for Oakley's mouth, and Jack went for his neck. Oakley jolted under the sudden two-pronged attack. His belly muscles squirmed under the touch of two different hands, Jack’s rougher, hers smoother, Jack’s touch lighter, hers firmer. Oakley nearly jumped off the bed when he felt both their mouths working on his nipples at the same time. She circled her tongue around hers, flicked it, and watched Jack suck his. Oakley was writhing, arms thrown over his face, fists clenching, a long, breathy moan when Jack gave his nipple a really long, uninterrupted suck. She liked that sound very fucking much.

When she dragged her hand down towards his crotch, he met Jack’s hand on the way. They looked at each other, coordinating efforts. They both grabbed his hard-on —there was enough length to accommodate both of their hands, damn him. He closed his fist around the head, and gave it a couple of squeezes and flicks with his thumb. She took the base and the balls. And all of it, without forgetting about his neck, lips and nipples. Oakley’s breathing was sounding more and more like desperate sobs now. He _must_ be desperate. After all, this was all nothing but one long tease, and with a lashing of sensory-deprivation for extra-kick.

Another naughty look with Jack. Are your thinking what I’m thinking? Admirably synchronised, they both started kissing and nuzzling their way down Oakley’s body. Oakley deduced where they were going, and what was going to happen, and he whimpered. He was so hard, a pearl of pre-come glinting on the tip of his cock. 

Jack’s expression was an absolute delight. He had a sweet face, one could almost say bland, nothing like their mischievous Dyonissos here. But right now, right now… Oh, right now there was nothing bland about Jack. He had fever in his eyes, a hungered determination that suited him.

With their eyes locked to coordinate, and pretty much in perfect unison, they traced the whole length of Oakley’s cock with their tongues, from base to tip, very, very slowly. Oakley gasped, his thighs actually trembling from the tension. Jack and her kissed when they reached the tip, still smirking, but this was all about Oakley, for both of them.

She gave him a nod, and Jack nodded back, and it was a free for all. The first time Jack took him in his mouth, Oakley knew. His mouth must be a different experience. She took a back seat for a moment, watching Oakley grip the sheets and his toes curl, as the loveliest blush blossomed down his neck and chest. He threw both arms over his face again when Jack started to suck him hard, as he jacked him where his mouth couldn’t take him.

“Ah, fuck…” gasped Oakley.

Fuck indeed. She was so horny right now, nobody could have said she had come in Dolby Surround only a little over half an hour ago. When Jack pulled away to let her take her turn, she had to really restrain herself. She wanted to climb on his cock and ride him all the way to Umbria… Jack wasn’t helping, his hand now stroking up and down her back and over her butt, while she was flicking her tongue under the head of Oakley’s cock.

They were taking turns on the frenulum, when Oakley suddenly ripped the blindfold off.

“Jesus!” he groaned, panting hard.

She thought he might say ‘ok that’s it’, but instead… he just gripped their heads, and held them in place. That is, on _him_. He reared his head to watch too, with a deep frown, mouth gaping, forehead glistening with sweat. He wanted to see them worship him, didn’t he? The little bugger. With his fingertips rubbing her scalp, she got shivers. She saw Jack’s eyes droop and he realised Oakley was stroking him too. Her pussy _loved_ that. She was dry humping Oakley’s leg and she hadn’t even realised.

Could they make this even better somehow. Was it even possible. 

“Bend your knees,” she said, as she turned to reach on the floor for the bottle of lube Oakley had used for her, and discarded there earlier. “Lift your hips.”

Would he go for it. Had he reached that point of desperate arousal yet. He was panting, his eyes glazed, his brow pinching with Jack’s continued attentions on his cock. 

He did it, he bent his knees. Good god, his face. He looked so debauched, feverish. She put a pillow under his arse, made him part his legs wider, and as Jack took position a bit higher up on the bed to keep sucking him, she coated one of her fingers well and…

“Oh god…!” gasped Oakley. 

She felt around, looking for it. Many expletives, spoken in an increasingly breathier, more choked up whimper, fell from Oakley’s mouth when she found it. 

“Wait, don't let him come yet,” she told Jack, surprising herself with the dominating sound of her own voice. 

Oakley’s eyes flew open, he stared in despair. Jack concentrated on licking and kissing the less sensitive base and side of the shaft, with a tease to the head every now and then, and going to town on his balls, while she focused on his prostate. She didn't want him to come just yet, and for his mind to clear up, and suddenly decide that this was awkward.

“Fuck, fuck…” moaned Oakley, covering his face with his hands, as if it was all too much.

“Go slow,” she told Jack, who took heed, curling his tongue around the shaft, stroking lightly with his hand around it. Oakley’s breathing shuddered that bit less. “That’s it,” she said.

She pulled out, coated a second finger, and as she nodded to Jack to pay some attention to the head again, she slid both fingers in.

Oakley arched on the bed, clenching vice-like around her. She had to wait until he came down before she was able to start fucking in and out.

“Slow,” she told Jack, “he’s close.”

Jack pulled back to watch. She guessed that would be a moment to treasure for him. He was panting and absently humping the mattress. 

Should she. Dare she. Three fingers. Tight fit. Slow, very, very slow, while she sought to distract him taking his cock in her mouth. Oakley’s expression unhinged into a frown and an open mouth.

“Yes…” he whimpered, clawing at the sheets. “ _Yes_ …”

He was coming undone, his cock so hard, so bloody big, and leaking pre-come. He was too close now.

She pulled out gently. He whipped his head up to see. His expression, full of expectation. Practically printed on his forehead, “ _what now_?”

“Fuck me,” she said, lying next to him. And she managed not to plead, how’s that.

Ah, the little bastard looked _ecstatic_. He grabbed a condom from the long strip on the bedside table, and eyefucking her the way he knew, he put it on, slid between her thighs. He made her lift her legs so that her ankles were around his neck, and propped himself on one palm, arm stretched. Boring into her eyes, he shoved it in, with one single forceful thrust, and started fucking immediately. She reached down to grab some hold on the sublime curve of his arse, so that she could meet his quick, sharp thrusts with her hips, the strong, deep clash making her see bloody stars. She looked up to him, the muscles of his arms, shoulders and chest bulging and straining, sweat on his neck, the line of his jaw from that angle, something ancient Greeks would have gone to war for. 

“Oakley…” she moaned, falling apart. 

He was ruthless. He seemed to be taking revenge for the more than forty-five minutes of extended teasing he had been submitted to. Meanwhile, Jack was stroking himself faster now, and Oakley’s eyes kept drifting to his movements. 

Now, ask anyone, you would not find a soul who would accuse her of being manipulative. She really would not know where to begin, she was utterly transparent. Or so she believed. So when she turned her head for Jack’s kiss, she wasn’t exactly following a plan, so much as an instinct. And when Jack kissed her back, stroking her breasts with slow, voluptuous delight, she was sure he didn’t really have an agenda either. What she would be willing to swear, is that they both wanted a reaction of some sort from Oakley. And also, that they both got even more than they had hoped for.

Never missing a beat of his fucking, Oakley reached for Jack’s neck and pulled him up abruptly for a kiss. And what a kiss it was, alpha male asserting dominance, while turning beta male into mush. Jack transferred his hand to Oakley’s back and arse, and got an even deeper kiss in return. She was under there, swayed up and down the bed by Oakley’s thrusts, and whimpering. They were so fucking beautiful together, made up of sharp bone, taut, supple flesh, smooth skin and sunshine. She never thought she could get so aroused from just seeing two people kiss. 

Jack sat up in bed to reach Oakley’s neck with his mouth. Oakley tipped his head to the side to invite him in. Jack’s hand traveled down Oakley’s spine, to the cleft of his arse. He cupped his arse, buttocks rippling and bulging as he fucked her. Jack threw her a look from his perch by Oakley’s neck. As if they had agreed to all this before, she managed to find the lube, lost between a fold in the sheets, and handed it to Jack, who grabbed it blindly, eyes shut as he continued to plunder Oakley’s neck. She saw him manipulate the bottle expertly. He had done this before. He coated his fingers and his hand disappeared somewhere behind Oakley’s back. 

Then Oakley’s fucking slowed down and all but stopped. She watched fascinated as all sorts crossed his expression, surprise, mild panic maybe, which turned to drowsy abandon at some point, probably when Jack found the right spot inside him. Oakley lazily, sensuously, began to fuck her again, his face unhinged, his brow pinched with tension and pleasure. Jack was standing next to him, fingering him delicately, his cock achingly hard brushing the side of Oakley’s buttocks, his eyes locked on Oakley’s face. 

He withdrew his fingers. Oakley snapped back to attention, to watch what he was up to now. His eyes widened when he saw Jack putting on a condom and slicking himself up. There was some alarm in his face, mixed with generous lashings of lust. She observed with wide eyes the sight of Oakley’s face as Jack took position behind his back. He must be circling Oakley’s hole with his cock, if she had seen enough gay porn. Oakley bit his bottom lip, expectant.

“Yeah?” asked Jack, circling, circling, stroking one hand gently over Oakley’s back.

Oakley looked at her, straight into her eyes. She returned the stare, enthralled. Would he do it.

“Yeah,” said Oakley then.

She fucking saw it on his face when Jack breached him, she sensed the sharp tug of Oakley’s cock inside her cunt. His brow scrunched up, in a grimace. The burn, wasn’t it? His hard-on flagged a bit. She hooked her hands around the back of his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss. He was very still for her mouth, a pinch in his forehead as Jack thrusted in, little by little. 

“Fuck,” said Jack then, with a gasp, collapsing on Oakley’s back. He was all in. 

They were all still for a moment. Oakley’s expression so tense, his breathing irregular, short explosive gasps. 

Jack started to move, his movements were short and shallow, to get Oakley used to the sensation of being full, and stretch him open a bit more. After some time, Oakley’s erection perked up again, his expression of increasing, astonished, completely unexpected enjoyment the sexiest, most endearing thing she had ever seen. And the hottest. And Oakley was so overcome, he wasn’t moving. She lifted her hips, fucking herself on him. That made Oakley wake up. His eyes flickered and focused on her. 

He went to keep fucking her. And oh, his eyes when he felt Jack shift inside him. He pulled out of her, and in again, and good god, his face. That was it, wasn’t it, sweet boy? Fucking her, with Jack filling him, stimulated from all fucking ends. He was shaking. He started to move faster, groaning. 

“Oh, ffffff….” A hoarse, low grunt. Oakley was seeing a whole new world now, for sure. 

Jack began to fuck him, really fuck him. She could hear the thump. Oakley was trembling, trying to fuck her, looking overwhelmed, his coordination all over the place. He was very very close, and he was holding back, she could tell from his shivers. She wasn’t there yet. 

“Oh, fuck, _yes_ …” moaned Oakley, and her pussy clenched tight, and throbbed, and she thought she was going to die right there.

She just stopped trying to come. She concentrated on the experience of being mounted, shaken under their combined push, watching them. Oakley most of all, because she would want to remember that face on a cold winter’s night (and then she would probably be able to make do without the central heating.) 

Oakley started to crumble.

“Fuck, fuuuuuck… Oh fuck, yeeees… Oh fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come… fuck, fuuuuck…” 

He shook up, more suddenly than he ever had, his moans louder, higher-pitched, imploring almost. He fucked her, short, deep thrusts, pushing into her now, his chest heaving fast, quick gasps.

Both Jack and her watched him as his face slowly, very slowly, started to lose its tension. They waited for him to come down from his considerable high, Oakley the sole, gorgeous focus of their lust. 

He slowly, dazedly opened his eyes.

“Fuck…” he insisted. He looked far off…

“Can I carry on?” asked Jack, his voice thin, strangled.

Oakley was still hard inside of her. He drilled into her eyes, completely wild. And he said yes.

She really thought the night had peaked. That she had seen the sexier thing there was to be seen that evening.

Well, think again.

Never let me sleep if I’m awake, and if I’m asleep, never let me wake, came the quote to her mind, as she watched Oakley, now in full possession of himself, taking a cock inside him, being swung back and forth and jolted by the push of that other man chasing his orgasm inside his body, while eyefucking her to new reaches, and goading Jack, because why the fuck not.

“You can go harder,” said Oakley, a wicked grin in his mouth, eyes on hers, “I’m not going to break.”

Jack sounded about as ruined as she was. He did go harder. She could see some of his face over Oakley’s shoulder. And Oakley was _still_ hard inside of her. She was surely losing her mind. She tried to reach between her thighs to touch herself. Oakley batted her hand away, and held both her wrists over her head. She whimpered, both from frustrated thirst and in awe at this fucking god still inside her.

Jack was getting frantic, his moans climbed up several keys. He jolted, whimpered, pushed into Oakley more forcefully again and again, and he stopped, panting, gasping for air. She felt his aftershocks through Oakley’s body. Jack stayed inside for a few instants, savouring the moment, recovering. It was a great moment for him, she was sure. When he pulled out, gentle as he was, Oakley winced. 

The bloody bastard was glowing, handsomer than ever, the shit-eating, self-satisfied expression on his face something she both wanted to slap and press between her thighs. _And he was still half-hard inside her_.

“Did you like that?” said Oakley then, still boring into her soul with his bright, blue-green eyes. She could either nod enthusiastically, or smirk lasciviously. She only just managed to refrain from the former and stick to the latter, for dignity.

“Then show me how much you liked it.”

She had been without words, really, really without words very few times in her life, and this was one of them.

“What?” 

“You haven’t come yet, have you? Come on, _show me_.”

She still had no words, but god, who fucking needed words. She pushed her fingers between Oakley’s lips for him to lick and wet. When they were nice and slick, she took them to her clit. She was so aroused she thought she’d get there in three flicks. She got down to business. 

“No, no, no…” said Oakley then. With one hand on hers, she slowed her down. “Make it good.”

Mentally, she bursted into a long string of expletives. Outwardly, she fucking did as she was told, slowing down, returning the eyefucking like a boss. She was very bloody aroused, and she wanted to come so, so badly, and he was going to fucking die dragging this out, but… But it was bloody worth it for Oakley’s face, his attention, his delight in tormenting her. 

He withdrew his cock. _Whimper_ … 

“Finger yourself.”

Oh Jesus Mary and Joseph, his voice was turning her spine into bloody cooked _linguini_. She obeyed, finding herself leaking wet, and warm, and achingly dissatisfied with the awkward angle. She could get her fingers in, and it was nice, but it wasn’t enough, not when it could be as good as she knew it could be. She wanted a straight-up fucking… 

“Oakley, please…”

“Please what?”

“Finger me, please…”

That smirk of his, she wanted to whack it off his face.

He touched her lips, dipping his fingertips inside her mouth. She licked them. She had stopped moving, completely enraptured by the slow touch of his hand down her body. He slid one single fucking finger in. Nowhere near fucking enough. She cursed, clenched around it.

“Oakley, fuck…”

“What.” That fucking leer.

“Please…” she begged, and sod dignity. “Please, more…”

That fucking smirk grew even wider and more wicked. And it suited him so very, very much…

Two long, thin fingers. She moaned, arching, clenching even tighter, in fucking agony from frustration.

“Oakley…” she groaned, gagging for it now.

“Do you want me to eat you out?” said the merciless bastard.

“Oh fuck, yes, yes, please…” She obviously wasn’t above begging. She had never felt so bloody desperate in her life.

Oakley climbed down, with a face-full of that devilish, fiery smile. She felt his breath on her pussy, prolonging the torment.

“Like that?” He kept right on smirking, even as he flicked his tongue once on her swollen clit. She shook up.

“You fucking…!” she hissed. “Oakley, _please_ , just fucking do it!” She was sounding quite furious, but inside she was on her knees and dragging at his feet. And he knew it.

“Oh, you owe me,” he said, a low purr, getting closer, his breath on her throbbing cunt again. “You’re going to owe me big time for this.”

And he finally, _finally_ , got on with it. His tongue so hot and soft and so fucking wonderful on her clit, his fingers rhythmically fucking in and out, three now, and it escalated quickly, and steadily, and so fucking intensely, reaching higher and higher until it was fucking white hot. When it burst out, her throat was so dry from all the heavy breathing that she lost her voice, and that was the only thing that prevented her from crying his name out for the whole house to hear, until the bloody roof came down. 

 

She blinked awake as if from a daze, to the sight of Oakley’s worst shit-eating smile _yet_. That had to have been the most intense orgasm of her bloody life. And if was written on her face, she was sure. If the kid had been full of himself before, he would be bulging at the fucking seams from now on.

And how it became him. 

Oh, my poor woman, you just went and got yourself in love with this little shit, haven’t you? 

And only two more nights before he goes home.

This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise to keep it light and easy. Fear not, this one was never about the angst.
> 
> And yes, Oakley's stamina is reaching new heights. Any problems with that?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka the angsty one. 
> 
> You knew this was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to writernotwaiting for the beta read. Apparently, this writer here can handle better the pronouns in a threesome than those of a plain, simple het fuck XD
> 
> Thanks also to Freckletriangleofdoom for Valentina's name. It wasn't an essential point of the plot or anything, but it was bugging me soooo much. I've made up all the character's I've wanted, but the Italian housekeeper? Hell naw.
> 
> And I've taken every liberty with the house and everything I felt like, which I'm sure you must have noticed by now. That's ok, right?
> 
> Oh, and it does say explicit up there, right? Make that THOROUGHLY explicit.

 

Lights were out. The house was quiet. The air had the heavy, thick stillness of a breezeless summer night. Her eyes were now used to the dark, she was watching Oakley’s profile, its edges traced in silver moonlight, the smoke of his fag lazily climbing in the air, one arm under his head. On her other side, Jack was snoring softly. 

“What are you thinking?” she muttered. Silly question, sure, heard in every post-coital scene in every Woody Allen rip-off ever.

He took a long drag and squirmed on his arse.

“…That it feels… weird,” he said, after a moment’s thought.

“Your…?”

“Yeah.” Harrumph.

“Like it’s, um, still there?” she supplied.

He harrumphed again and nodded, possibly blushed — hard to tell in the moonlight. 

“Yes, I know the feeling,” she said, with the tiniest smirk she could manage. They were both speaking in hushed tones, so as not to disturb Sleeping Beauty in the bed with them.

“Is it always like that?” he whispered.

She gave that some consideration.

“I guess that, if you do it often enough, you probably just get used to the sensation and end up paying it no mind.”

He said nothing to that. A silence ensued. At the end of it, out of the blue, he asked,

“Do you think I’m bisexual?”

“Goodness, how should I know,” she said. “Why? Because you enjoyed it?”

She was betting on a certain fluster this time, judging from that short pause and the shy tone he spoke with next.

“Well, that and… I’m thinking that… That I want to fuck him. But I’m not sure if I, uh, want him, like, want- _want_ him, or if I just, you know, want to, uh, get even.”

She tried to muffle her laughter.“Get even,” she repeated, mostly to herself. This boy. “Yes, sounds like you.” And she told herself to cool it. The kid might be undergoing some life-changing internal debate right this moment. You should be a bit more sensitive, woman. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Is it a worry?”

“Worried that I may be bi?”

“Yes.”

He thought about that for a spell.

“Fuck it,” he declared then. “No, it isn’t.”

Oh, bless. She almost, _almost_ gave his forearm a nice, supporting squeeze. Well, in Oakley logic, how could it be a problem? Twice as many bodies to ruin, twice as many hearts to shatter. And why leave it at bi? Have you heard of pansexuals? The sky’s the limit, darling.

“And you?” he said.

“Me?”

“What are you thinking?”

She sniggered under her breath. Woody Allen rip-off indeed. She should tuck the sheet under her armpits for the full effect. But to be honest, all of a sudden she wasn’t feeling that cheerful. She remembered what she had been thinking. 

Should she confess or make something up? Should she keep it to herself? Well, at this point in the game, and with what was left of it, you know, who cared anymore.

“I was thinking you’re going home in a couple of days.” Her tone had not been overly glum, had it?

Oakley turned to face her, with a frown. Then he looked back to the ceiling, brow still knitted up, grave. 

Oh dear. For the life of her, she couldn’t tell what he might be thinking. Had the melancholy in her tone been too obvious? Had it put him off? Or was he perhaps also sad that…? Oh, no, silly woman, don’t you go down that road. Only pain and disappointment lie that way. 

“It has been fun, hasn’t it?” she said, something to fill the silence. And perhaps trying to sound like she didn’t care that much.

He cleared his throat. With a quick, deep drag, he finished his cigarette and put it out, twisting his upper body to reach the ashtray on the bedside table. 

“Yeah,” he said. He laid down to sleep on his side, with his back to her. Right.

It was a wide bed, but three people is a lot of people. She was flanked by two very hot gentlemen, quite literally, and she was going to sweat. Oh well, a small price to pay for what she had got in return, and not a bad excuse to give herself in the morning for the very few, very unsatisfactory hours of sleep she was already anticipating. Much better than admitting to herself she would be kept awake all night tossing and turning in her head what had been behind Oakley’s reaction.

 

 *

 

She did manage to scrounge up some sleep after all, and she woke up to the sound of moans and heavy breathing. She opened her drowsy eyes to the heavenly vision of Oakley vigorously mounting Jack.

“Ah… Tom… ah, fuck, Tom…” their mutual friend was moaning into his pillow. He was on his front, bum in the air, fists clenching the sheets, as Oakley ploughed him with quick, short thrusts, hands on Jack’s hips, a loose grip.

Well, talk about a wake up call. She felt a rush of hot blood that took her from dozy to completely alert, to painfully aroused, in about three pelvic revolutions. Oakley looked serious, focused, and he was keeping the noise to gasping and panting. Jack seemed to be feeling more vocal.

“Oh my god, yes… god, Tom, yes… oh fuck, fuck, right there, right there…”

She must have made a noise, maybe even a whimper. Oakley threw her a look, but kept right on doing what he was doing. Jack turned his face to her, with a sleepy, cockeyed grin of absolute pleasure and triumph. She smiled back, and she smiled even more when Jack crooked his index finger at her in a ‘come hither’ motion. He made room for her, propping himself on his elbows while she took position, her back against the headboard, her crotch right bang under Jack’s face. 

With Oakley rocking him to and fro, and seemingly doing wonderful, extremely distracting things to his nether regions, Jack could hardly be on his best game. Then again, with that panorama before her eyes (the thick of the action, Oakley’s rippling stomach and his beautiful face as he fucked his friend), she didn’t need much at all to get her well on her way. Jack’s tongue played on her clit, and she threw her head back and let herself feel. With her eyes open, she would look at Oakley, watching his own cock slip in and out of Jack. With her eyes closed, she would imagine the lead up to that moment. How long had it been going on? How had it started? Had Oakley just blurted out the question, or had he wormed his way in with all his weapons of seduction? Oh, she would have liked to see that, Oakley deploying the eyefuck and the sex-voice and the flirtatious eyebrow and the honeyed words. Or had Jack been the one to start it? And had there been other positions? Had Jack prepared himself, or had he got Oakley to do it? Oh god in heaven, she was fucking burning…

When she opened her eyes next, she found Oakley staring, just before he looked away. She thought that was unusual, and a bit of a shame. She had enjoyed all the sex they had had only with their eyes for a good chunk of the past evening. 

Jack established a rhythmic, constant stroke, relentless, and she was feeling it build up properly now. He slipped two fingers inside her, and she thought she would be coming in no time, but when she was getting really close, Jack stopped all he was doing, concentration lost, looking pretty much destroyed. Oakley was fucking faster — she could only imagine the glorious, merciless friction. And Jack needed both his hands now, one to prop himself up, the other to jerk off. She stroked his head between her thighs, enjoying the look on his face. And she was enjoying the look on Oakley’s face as well, tensing up and unhinging as he got closer. She took one hand to herself, stroking her clit in quick, circular motions, as the boys’ moaning and gasping escalated. She moaned as well as the sensation intensified, and Oakley looked at her, finally (now that Jack wasn’t eating her out?), his eyes from her face (not her eyes) to her crotch, and fixed there, as she stroked faster and faster. She wanted to come so badly, and she wanted to come with them. The half-sitting position was not helping, her clit caved in between her folds, but it was definitely building up. She parted her thighs wider, pushed her hips up, listened to the sound the boys made.

Jack was pumping himself very fast, and Oakley was fucking harder. He was taking her breath away, so fucking beautiful. He had a terminal case of bed head, and his eyes were almost crystal clear under that light, which sharpened the elegant angles of his face. He was dripping with sweat (it was already hot, even at this time of the day), and with the slanted rays of the early morning sun, he was bloody glistening. 

Oakley whimpered breathlessly, and with a pained, scrunched up expression, he slumped over, as his body shook up, and he slowed down for the last pushes. Underneath him, Jack was jerking off frantically.

So was she. When Oakley drowsily opened his eyes and looked at her again, she took it up a notch, so fucking desperate, and it finally began to peak. She kept stroking and stroking at the same frenzied pace, to wring every last whisper of sensation out of her orgasm.

Jack must have come while her attention was elsewhere. He was now panting hard, but he had stopped jacking. Oakley pulled out, perhaps too quickly — Jack hissed.

Had she expected Oakley to collapse on the bed next to them? Well, yes, why wouldn’t she? 

He didn’t. He dealt with the condom, bent over to retrieve his clothes from the floor (both Jack and her ogled), put his pants on in a hurry, and left with his shirt still undone, long strides. Inertia slammed the door he had neglected to shut.

Jack and her shared a look of puzzlement. Then he turned over, and carefully pushed himself up to a sitting position, a wince when his butt was squashed under his own weight.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He smirked, a bit flustered.

“He’s a bit of an animal, isn’t he?” he said, not looking one bit put off, and quite lovely with the blush of the afterglow.

After the little snigger they shared, an awkward silence settled. The night had ended and the spell of intimacy had lifted. They didn’t know each other after all, and whatever bug had bitten Oakley’s butt, his stampede had left a strange atmosphere behind. Still, Jack stayed a bit longer. Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen fleeing the crime scene, like Oakley had. 

He got up eventually, and went around the room putting on his clothes as he came by them. She stayed in bed. 

Once he was dressed, he took a couple of cautious steps in her direction, fidgety.

“Well,” he said. “Uh, thanks,” he said. He cleared his throat.

She smiled at him.

“No, thank _you_ ,” she said, hoping he could hear the fondness in her voice. “I had a wonderful time.”

He blushed, and smiled too.

“Yeah, me too. And… if you guys ever want to do this again… Uh, I’m totally game.”

Her face may have fallen slightly at that. _You guys._

“That would be lovely,” she said non-commitally, picking her tone up.

He hesitated, but in the end he leaned over to kiss her. On the cheek. What a darling, how very sweet and unassuming, who would have said his face had been between her legs only a few minutes ago.

As he walked out, she noticed the stiffness in his step. Bless.

 

*

 

If somebody had asked her for specifics, she couldn’t have quite put her finger on it, but that did not mean she was inventing it. No, it wasn’t just her. Oakley was definitely… off. True, they had not talked or spent much time together these last few days, except when they were fucking, and he was always here there and everywhere with his friends, just as he was today, but… well, their gazes would connect, or she would bump into him unexpectedly and sense his delight in knowing that he was making her giddy with anticipation and desire. She practically didn’t see him today, and she could not help but feel he was avoiding her. When she did see him, there were no shows of complicity, no lingering looks, no flirtatious little nudges. She hated that she was wasting a lovely summer’s day in Tuscany wondering what was up that kid’s arse, but she couldn’t help herself.

And she couldn’t help it either that her feelings on the subject swerved like those of a hormonal teen. From deep sadness to rightful indignation, to melancholy and back to anger. If she had been more willing to be generous with herself, she would have accepted that she had never stood a chance, and try not to beat herself up so much about having fallen for him. But she wasn’t feeling at all generous. She struggled to feel anything that wasn’t either self-pity or self-loathing. How did men fucking do it, just getting up from bed without the least bit of attachment? How did they manage not feeling anything at all?

 

She kept to herself all day, reading, a nap, a dip in the pool when there was no one around. As the evening approached, she thought she needed to show her face to her hosts. She found Mathilde and Johanna in the kitchen, sorting out a cold dinner, bitching about men. Just the ticket. By the time they were done with the work, they were slightly tipsy on refreshing white wine, and in a much brighter mood than they had all started with.

When she was making for her room to change and freshen up, she crossed paths with Oakley, going in the same direction. He startled. They walked in silence for a few steps. She decided to just bloody ask.

“Oakley, is there a problem?”

“Why?” he snapped, tense.

“You’ve been all… strange.”

“No I haven’t,” he replied, walking faster, vigorous strides of those long, long legs.

“Did last night freak you out or something?” she tried.

“No, of course not, what are you talking about.” They had reached the door to his room.

“So, what’s the problem? Have I done something?” she insisted, determined not to let him off the hook.

He huffed impatiently, as if she was being a pain in the arse. She felt a mighty urge to slap his face.

“I’m just winding down,” he said. “It’s not like we’re dating or something, is it?”

Ok, the words stung, but the tone of voice _cut_. She clenched her jaw, trying to put a blank mask on it.

“No, we’re not,” she said, as coldly as she could. “Fine, then.” And she walked away, head held high. After a moment, he called after her. She did not turn.

There you have it then. He knows I’ve gotten attached and he’s running as fast as he possibly can in the opposite direction, because he’s a fucking nineteen-year-old. It’s not like his older counterparts fare much better at this Being Decent Instead Of A Pile Of Chicken Shit business, but you should have bloody known. Hell, you knew when you first met him, and he’s never done anything to make you believe otherwise. Why in the bloody world did you let yourself go so deep? How did you think this story would end?

You know what? You don’t have the time or the bloody patience for this. You’ve had a good run, you’ve had the best he has to offer, and plenty of it as well. Now move on. _Fuck him_.

 

 

 

Some friends and neighbours had been invited to join them for dinner, grown-ups for a change. Among them, an attractive middle-aged artist friend of Mathilde’s, with the rough, sexy hands of a craftsman, and this Roman Patrician air about him, elegant and distinguished. They met having a cocktail before sitting at the table, and she noticed his interest straight away. No wonder he found her a delight, since she wasn’t in a very talkative mood, but happy to hear him ramble on about his work, his inspiration in ancient Etruscan art, his passion for _l’arte povera_. 

He was very flattered with her attention. She was a good listener. Better still, she was really skilled in listening with half an ear while coming through as being in raptures. Whenever a question for her came along, and she had no idea what it had been, she was quick as a whip in making up something to deflect attention. A vague reply and asking something back, something about him, always did it. Vanity. She had him eating out of the palm of her hand even before they sat down to eat.

So instead of listening to his rambles (which she might have found genuinely interesting any other night, it’s fair to say, the man was no fool), she had been observing and comparing. Comparing Cosimo’s thinning, salt-and-pepper waves, greying Brutus’ beard and silver chest hairs, with the whole head of golden curls, smooth face and wisp of body hair of that Adonis at the other end of the table. Cosimo’s dry, sagging skin with Oakley’s taut, supple, golden flesh. Cosimo’s pleasant, slightly aphonic voice with Oakley’s sexy, low, bronze rumble. Cosimo’s full, quick chuckles with Oakley’s caressing purr of a laughter. Cosimo’s rough, hard-working hands with Oakley’s own, so graceful and unspoilt. She was also wondering how Cosimo’s cock would be, and thinking of Oakley’s, and how Cosimo’s fifty-something-year-old’s lovemaking would fare against Oakley’s prodigious vigour, stamina and libido. Cosimo’s full lips against Oakley’s thin, pretty crooked mouth. The light and joy Oakley gave off like an intoxicating scent and his affected world-weariness and half-arsed life philosophies. Oakley’s touch, Oakley’s mouth, Oakley’s cock in her mouth, Oakley’s body covering her body, the glint of sweat on his skin early that morning, his face as he came inside Jack.

When Cosimo said they should meet again before she left, she said yes, by all means, let’s, and she smiled. When he suggested they exchanged phone numbers, she dutifully whipped out her mobile. Looking at his stubby, virile fingers, square nails as he typed, she wondered how they would feel inside her. Cosimo lingered on when she kissed her goodbye on the cheek. He asked her to call, his voice warm, and she guessed she would. It struck her how she would have been mopping the floors with the perspective of an affair with a man like him only two weeks ago. Instead, the moment he was out of her sight, he dropped out of her mind.

She tasked herself with going to fetch another bottle, since the conversation was still going for a little group of four or five that didn’t feel like finishing the night yet. As she took the steps down to the cellar, she heard the dull thud-thud of loud music. The youths had a party on. As she walked past it, she had to slow down for a spell, as the sight of Oakley dancing, shirt hanging open, fag in his hand, bouncing like gravity didn’t affect him, took her breath away. She got herself out of there with the deepest sigh, and without the bottle.

As she rushed away, headed straight for her room, she heard a rustle behind her, and then a hand on her arm. She turned. It was Oakley.

“Are you trying to make me jealous or something?” he said.

She stared at him, agape. Shock gave way pretty bloody quickly to outrage. What the hell did that bloody mean? She did not lose her temper.

“Jealous? I thought you said we were nothing.” Her tone had been Siberian cold.

He gasped, his eyebrows took a pitiful curve, as if she had slapped him. It made her anger even worse.

“That’s not what I said!” he protested.

She was glaring at him with spite.

“So what did you say, then?”

He called his eyebrows to order, his expression relaxed, turned cold. He squared his jaw.

“Forget it,” he hissed, and walked away.

She was lost for words. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any fucking worse. That should be Oakley’s selling slogan, “Always expect more.” 

She slammed the door to her room behind her, and felt tears surging. She took deep breaths, and overcame the urge to cry. You don’t need this shit, woman. You don’t need him. How about you bang your head against the wall or stub your toe against the foot of the bed. That will give you a good reason to cry about. Because that idiot brat there, isn’t.

She slipped into bed, alone, and when she smelled Oakley’s scent on the sheets, on the pillow, she knew it would be a long, restless night. 

She had no doubt that one day she would look back on these days and laugh at herself, and hopefully she would remember only the best sex of her life. 

It wouldn’t be a lot of fun in the meantime.

 

 

*

 

 

The last day blues seemed to weigh heavily on all of them. For many, going home meant going back to work and urban life in gloomy, miserable England, with its watered-down summer, daily showers, and partially-cloudy, sorry excuses for a sunny day. 

 She had waited to go down for breakfast until she thought the morning rush had passed. She was having her coffee and reading the newspaper when Oakley walked in. She bristled up, tension gripped her back. She tried to remain calm and cool, at least in appearance. 

He said “Buon giorno” to Valentina and charmed her with a few words and smiles. Then he proceeded to lean over and around her, crowding her to reach for something or other on the table. He took a seat on the bench right next to her, forcing her to shift to one side. And then, adding insult to injury, he turned his face to check her reaction. She kept on reading her newspaper as if he wasn’t there. She couldn’t help a slight sourness on her face, but damned if she was going to let the irritation she was feeling be known to him. 

Neither did she rush. She finished her coffee in good time, hearing him chew and swallow, ignoring the looks he kept throwing her, folded up the newspaper, and left the room with a bitter gesture in her mouth, cursing him under her breath only once she got outside. 

She had believed him oblivious and uncaring, not cruel. Right now, she could not wait to see the back of him and get her peace back. If he didn’t just bloody disappear soon, he would manage to spoil the whole thing for her, and that, she would not consent.

She borrowed a car and drove to town. She spent the whole day away, letting art and architecture and old bookshops and floods of strangers freshen up her mood. After all, she was not dying, she was healthy and safe, and so were her loved ones. She had a reasonably comfortable life with friends and beauty. She had gotten her heart broken, that was all. Life carried on. Get some perspective, get your head out of your own arse, do not let yourself wallow in self-pity. You'll get over it. Be patient, this too shall pass.

 

 

 

There was to be one last communal supper al fresco. They set up a long table by the pool, under the stars, with salad and cold meats and stuffed eggs and bread and olives and cheese, and two whole boxes of a local _prosecco_ that was only produced in small batches. She sat down with the grown-ups, he sat down with the kids. She caught him looking at her a few times, and looked away. _Leave me the fuck alone_.

Conversation always lasted too long for the youths. She watched the group make their way indoors, and wondered what had brought her to join them in the first place, how did she ever think she could belong. Oh, right, it was Oakley. Oakley throwing her looks, Oakley casually putting his arm around her, Oakley grabbing her hand down the street for no reason whatsoever, Oakley leaning towards her when they talked, Oakley smiling at her with that glint in his eye, Oakley wanting to talk about sex and relationships all the fucking time, Oakley, Oakley, fucking Oakley… 

She was facing the pool, so she didn’t see it coming. She heard shouting and screaming and laughter, and all of a sudden, there was Oakley, stark bollock naked, running like a gazelle, jumping over the sunbeds and leaping into the pool with a huge splash. There was a bit of a commotion for a minute, clapping and laughing and a sensation of excitement when he broke the water and shook his head, splashing water all around. Beautiful bastard, sex and joy radiating off his body in waves.

Then a couple more kids also jumped in, and eventually the conversation resumed around her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was floating quietly, almost peacefully, throwing his head back to soak his curls, long neck arching, the light of the pool illuminating him from below, his body ghostly white.

And he turned to look at her. She did not avert her eyes this time. Instead, she returned a severe, hostile stare. Yes, I see you, I see you trying to torment me. Congratulations, you cruel bastard, you’re succeeding. I hope you’re happy now.

He must have surely felt her displeasure. He looked away. A small triumph.

 

Oakley had left his cigarettes in her room when he ran away the other morning. Before she went to sleep, she stole a fag and sat down on the veranda overlooking the fields to smoke it. Right now, she was so bitter, she couldn’t even make herself believe that it had been worth it. 

She heard the door creak behind her. She huffed. Yes, of course it was him. What now.

She threw him a very quick look. His pants were back on, but his hair was still wet, his shirt hanging open, his nipples pebbled, goosebumps in the moonlight on his smooth skin. Why did he feel the need to torture her like that, god only knows.

“So,” he said, abruptly, without further ado, “that bloke you were talking to yesterday.”

“What?” she had managed to surprise her again. What the hell was he on about?

“That guy. The Italian tosser with the white streaks.”

“Who, Cosimo?”

“Yeah. Are you going to fuck him when I’m gone?”

Her jaw was hanging. Her intention of not showing emotion of any kind had gone out the window. She was speechless. 

But then, with her eyes fixed on him in astonishment, she noticed something she had missed before. He was fidgety, stiff, not his smooth, devil-may-care self at all.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,”  she said, chilly. “You have no right asking me that.”

He looked away and down to his feet, chastised. He was out of line, and he knew it. She did not know what he was up to, but she had not intention of making it easy on him. She quietly kept on smoking and looking at the fields, waving like seaweed under the current in the moonlight.

“You know, I don’t think you should fuck him,” he said.

She arched her eyebrows in disbelief, but she was scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to capacity for surprise with this kid. She made sure her tone was cold, aloof and sarcastic when she said,

“Really? Why not?”

“The bloke’s like, what, seventy?”

“Fifty-four, actually,” she corrected.

“Whatever,” said Oakley. “You should not fuck him,”

She nodded, heavy on the dismay.

“Alright. And just for fun, why shouldn’t I?”

“You’re going to give him a heart attack.”

She pursed her mouth to reign in a smile.

“What do you mean?”

“He can’t possibly keep up with you, he can’t satisfy you. You need someone with more stamina,” he declared.

She felt the smile spreading on her lips, whether she liked it or not. The cheeky bugger.

“Like a nineteen-year-old,” she said, derisive.

“Yeah, or a decathlon athlete,” he grinned.

“Oakley!” She shook her head in despair, but she was laughing. When she looked at him again, she found him staring. And _how_. Like a gorgeous, sad, longing puppy. It wiped the smile from her face and made her stomach take a dive. There was a heavy silence.

“I’ve been a cunt,” he said.

Well, that was almost vindication. 

“Yes, you have,” she agreed.

“I-… I don’t really know what to do.”

“About what.”

“About this.”

The thought occurred then that this conversation was not a good idea. That she was keeping it going out of misplaced hope.

“You can’t be my girlfriend,” he stated, matter-of-factly.

She raised her eyebrows with fresh annoyance, stewing in it.

“I mean, I don’t think mum and dad are ecstatic, and you know, people would talk, and-…”

“Who said anything about girlfriends, Oakley? Because I sure as hell didn’t,” she cut him.

“No,” he blushed. “I mean, I am. Saying it. Me. Now.”

“I don’t want to be your bloody girlfriend, Oakley, thank you very much,” she snapped. “I don’t have any wishes to become a baby-sitter.” 

Her mood was worsening by the moment. People would talk? You impenitent jerk. He gave her a quick look, big eyes, chastened, perhaps humiliated. She enjoyed it, bloody right she did.

“What do you bloody want from me, Oakley, why are you here?” she sighed, exasperated all of a sudden. She had had enough now.

He seemed to need a moment to gather some courage.

“I’ve had the time of my life,” he muttered. “I don’t want it to end. But I guess it has to. And it’s…” He rubbed his eyes and looked away. Was his voice shaky? “It’s _grmbl_ hard.”

Well, he had done it again. She was lost for words. She was not expecting that. She drank the rest of her _prosecco_ down. She looked out to the night, a knot in her throat.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked.

“I don’t have anything to say,” she retorted.

He sighed, the bastard.

“This is not how I wanted this to end,” he mumbled.

She huffed, annoyed, that bloody knot in her throat again.

“Neither did I,” she said, sourly.

He was looking at her, big pleading eyes. _What_.

“We could… we could have one last night,” he said.

She gaped half in disbelief, half in something else completely.

“What?”

“I’d like to have one last night,” he said. “Please.”

He was staring right into her eyes, and she was struggling to hold his gaze. She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh or something else altogether. She was angry, and very much not in the mood for love, so to bloody speak. So why wasn’t she just sending him packing.

Oh, woman, you’re not sending him packing because you don’t want to. Because you want this one last night as much as he does. Now, you can be proud, or you can be clever. You can punish him, and punish yourself, or you can damn it all to hell and worry about it tomorrow. What will it be.

She looked away to the fields of Tuscany, the warm summer breeze like flowing veils. 

She sighed.

One day, said someone wise, you will regret the things you haven’t done more than anything you did.

“Alright,” she said.

Clever.

 

 

The walk to her room was silent and awkward. She was still rather sore and resentful, and she did not feel like holding hands or any other show of affection. She was probably radiating those unwelcoming feelings, because he wasn’t daring to reach for her either.

Once inside the room, it only got even more awkward. It was time to actually _do_ something. She was tense. He was fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching his fists. She saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He suddenly stole nearer, with a fast, jerky move, dipping his head for a kiss, just as she tipped her head back to invite it, and bumped him right on the nose.

“Ow, fuck!” he grunted, hands on his face, a tear in his eye.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” she covered her mouth, because she suddenly felt a huge need to laugh, which only got worse when he checked his hand for blood, with a pitiful frown and a wrinkle in his lovely nose. He gave her a resentful look. She bit her lips in, trying to get serious.

A couple of cringing, physically uncomfortable minutes followed, as he massaged his nose, snorting and sniffing now and then. Then he took a couple of deep breaths, perhaps trying to bring his mind back to the matter at hand, and after a second of hesitation, he cupped her face (to try to avoid any more surprises, probably) and dipped in to kiss her. Slow, sensual, just a touch of tongue, sweet, almost chaste to be honest, after all they had done. It was nice. She tried to open up to it.

After three minutes of that gentle treatment, she started to wonder if this was going anywhere. He wasn’t pawing her all over, he wasn’t groping her tits. That gentlemanly kissing was lovely, but after the day she had had, it would take more than this for something to happen down there. She started to put more fire in her kiss, she moved her hands from around his back down to his arse, and pulled him close to her. He oomphed, and she pressed against him again. And now he finally got the message of getting this party started. He started kissing her neck. But why the bloody delicacy, Oakley? I’m not made of china…

She pushed away, licking her lips. This wasn’t going very well. He looked… confused.

“Bed?” she suggested.

“Right,” he agreed.

She dropped the dress and turned her face, only to find him with his hands up and ready — clearly, he had expected to do it himself. Awkward. For a moment she hesitated. Did he want her to undress him? She began the movement just as he started to take off his shirt, so she proceeded with her bra and knickers as if that had always her intention. Oh, they were so out of synch tonight... His pants came down, his cock limp. And when she sat down on the bed, and he made his way around the other side, she had a horrible moment, thinking of a couple who have been together for twenty years, getting ready for their pre-arranged, customary saturday evening quickie. Only without any of the ease and naturalness that would have come with familiarity. It was all so… stiff, blundering, contrived. 

He got on top of her, still soft, and they kissed some more, but it felt awfully mechanic. He stopped.

“I’m going to eat you out, ok?” he said.

“Fine.”

He went for it, kissing his way down dutifully as he did. Then she felt him on her pussy, his mouth, his tongue. She was usually a lot more aroused when they got this going. She tried to relax into it, let the sensation get to her. 

Then he started spurting and puffing. A pube? She burst out laughing again. What could she do? He looked up, with a frown. Oh, dear, he didn’t think she was laughing at him, did he? She tried to get a grip once more, wishing he could just loosen up and laugh as well. Nineteen-year-olds. At what age did she learn to laugh at herself? 

He dipped down again, and kept going. He was being so… methodical, so, um, dedicated. And she still was not feeling it. And she wasn’t about to start faking it at this point in the game.

He lifted his head, noticing that there was something lacking. 

“Shall I fuck you?” he suggested.

“Um, yes, sure…”

He got on top, gave himself a few strokes, because he wasn’t completely hard either. He tried to get in there, but she wasn’t all that wet. She got some saliva on her palm and reached down to slick herself, and on the way there, she gave the head of his cock a got bump.

“Ow! Fuck fuck fuck!” he grunted, sitting up, holding himself.

“Oh my god, sorry…” 

And off she went, for the third time, laughing her arse off, because she had had a few awkward fucks in her life, but this one was quickly becoming the worst of them.

“Can’t you take it a bit more seriously?” he snapped.

She shook her head, unable to speak. 

“Oh dear,” she said, when she could. “But darling, we’re just fucking…” She meant to say it wasn’t a serious business at all, and loosen up already, but she was laughing too much to get her words out.

While she tried to calm down again, he sulked.

“This is not according to plan,” he grumbled.

“You had a plan?” she said, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye.

“Yes, well, I didn’t want the last time to be like the first. I was going to do you really well.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Well, that explained a few things. She stroked his face, his beautiful, youthful, sullen face. She adored him. “You’re trying too hard,” she muttered fondly.

He returned the look, under a frown that then began to soften into sad resignation and disappointment. Oh, hell, even boys like him need an injection of confidence sometimes.

“Don’t you know you’re already the best fuck I’ve ever had,” she confessed. And oh, that crinkle on his nose, she was going to dream of it for the rest of her life. “You have nothing to prove. I just want to be with you and have fun. You don’t need to go with a bang.”

He still looked skeptical and wary. 

“Come here,” she muttered, pulling his face close, to kiss him. He went for it with a frown of concentration. She stopped him one inch away. “But don’t think so much,” she warned. 

He looked a bit hopeless, as if he did not know how to do that. The mood seemed well and truly spoiled. Could she bring it back.

“Lie down,” she muttered into his ear, “relax. Just… let me have you…”

Oakley did, still rigid and uncertain, and folded his arms under his head. Well, she didn’t know about him, but her mood had suddenly picked up several revs at that sight, the long muscles at the back of his arms, the deep brown honey fuzz of his armpits, and what that position did to his shoulders, pecs and clavicles, all of it already taking her head and her underbelly right back into the zone. Lying next to him on her side, for a spell she just observed. She had a small, sad smile as her eyes roamed over his beauty. She caught his stare, part quizzical, part expectant. 

She wasn’t in any kind of hurry. Finality was everywhere, in every heave of his chest, in every beat of her heart, so many last times, so many last chances. She dipped down, touched her cheek on his smooth, warm stomach, then her lips. He took a deep breath. She peppered kisses and light sucks on his skin, his hand stroked the soft, sparse hair on his chest, the trail under his belly button, thickening as it went down, her fingers digging in his pubes, darker and harsher to the touch than the rest of the hair on his body. His cock stirred and twitched as it began to fill. 

Her lips and tongue found his nipple, and as she worked the one, she felt under her palm the other one stiffening as well. His breathing was deep, but quicker, and depending on what she was doing with her tongue, it caught and shuddered. One of his arms reached down to wrap around her, his hand in her hair. The other one brushed on her neck, her shoulder, then cupped her breast. She gasped. She half climbed on top of him, tangling their legs. She could feel him getting harder as she ground her crotch against his thigh. 

She dipped down to kiss him, his hand still in her hair, on her breast, his thumb lightly brushing on her nipple, making her shiver and clench her thighs. She took all she wanted from his thin mouth, shuddered when she met his tongue with hers, feeling the heat flare up in her pussy. He reached down to cup her butt and push her against him, and she moaned with the increased pressure. She opened her eyes and found his were closed, and it touched her, for some reason. Well, it was surely starting to seem that they might just salvage this, and have one last night to remember after all, rather than a sorry, pitiful shipwreck to forget. 

She broke the kiss to nibble his earlobe and softly breathe close to his ear, making him shiver and squirm, both leaning closer and twisting his neck, as he simultaneously sought the sensation and instinctively wriggled away from it, overcome. He tilted his head to offer his neck, and she took her time there, where his scent was almost inebriating, so intense. His hands were clawed in her hair, raking down her back. He had lifted the thigh that was trapped between hers, to press on her crotch, and she was grinding against it as she had her fill of his skin with her lips.

She reached down to feel his cock, fully hard now, pre-come pearling at the tip, and she closed her hand around the shaft, loosely, just a tease. It was enough to have him thrust his hips into her fist. He tipped her face up so that he could kiss her while he stroked him, gently, her palm still dry, the silken skin of his cock so delicate. His lids were fluttering, his breathing coming in short huffs. 

“I’m going to suck you,” she whispered.

His arms pulled away, his thigh came down, and he tilted his head back, sprawling on the mattress. In the universal language of horniness, he could have worn a sign that read “fuck yeah, take me” and his desires wouldn’t have been any clearer. 

She wanted it as much as he did (well, almost; he looked so eager). She climbed down without delaying, took position between his thighs. With the tip of her tongue, she touched the slit, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Then a quick flicker on the frenulum, along the ridge first, again, then side to side, then pressed against it. He hissed again, his thighs trembled. His cock followed her tongue as if magnetised. She brushed her lips all along the shaft, nuzzled it, touched her tongue on it when it pleased her. It was a bit cruel, such a light tease, and he was watching with a distraught expression, forehead scrunched up in a deep frown, mouth gaping wide. She took pity on him, and on herself, and after she wetted her palm, she closed her fist firmly around the shaft, and directed the head into her mouth, closing her lips tight around it. He moaned, a shuddery, breathy sound, throwing his head back again. 

She worked her tongue on his frenulum within her mouth. His stomach tensed up, his breathing hitched. She started to take him deeper, until she felt a light nudge at the back of her mouth, bobbing her head alongside her wetted fist. 

“God…” he whimpered, clutching the sheets. 

He pumped his hips up and she allowed it, staying put for a while, just closing her lips around his cock. He made some more desperate sounds. And her clit was throbbing deep and hot, sending waves of heat all through her body, tingles down her legs, a pulse of burning blood in her groin. She had one hand between her legs, to increase the sensation when she clenched her thighs. But she was so bloody horny right now, she needed more. When she lifted her eyes, her mouth still on his cock, she found his eyes on her, dark and glassy with arousal. And his clever, naughty, pink tongue peeking between his teeth. That’s a thought.

She proceeded to spin 180 degrees on herself, straddling his body, her knees on each side of him. He didn’t need the handbook for that. One big hand on her hips to draw her nearer, and she soon felt the flick of his tongue on her clit. 

“Ah…” she sucked in a breath, and returned the motion on his cock, curling her tongue around the head. He jolted, and then he started flicking his tongue side to side. She started flicking too. She sprawled her thighs even wider to improve his access. She was wide open and exposed, his tongue on her perineum, on her arse. Her cunt clenched and throbbed with need. She took the head in and sucked. He jolted again, then applied his lips on her clit, and sucked as well. She whimpered and lost her bearings for a moment. His hands spread all over her buttocks to press her down on to his face, pushing her closer to him. Then he smacked her arse, the cheeky bugger.

“Focus,” he muttered, playful. 

She laughed, and took him deep, deep, hollowing her cheeks, bobbing her head up and down, and it was him who totally forgot what he was doing. It was her turn to slap, and his turn to laugh. And then she felt two of his fingers sliding inside her. Her giggles dissolved into a moan. He fingered her from that odd angle, as he licked her, flicking and lapping, and she was moaning around his cock, forgetting herself, and feeling increasingly more desperate. 

“For the love of god,” she gasped, and she got herself up, and unmounted him. 

He looked debauched and smug and so bloody beautiful, his lips a pink mess, glistening with her juices.

“Ask me what I want,” she said.

“What do you want.”

“I want you to fuck me right now,” she begged. And got herself on all fours.

He didn’t need asking twice. He rushed to his knees, took the condom when she handed it to him, and she closed her eyes, panting, in position, heart hammering, open and desperate for his cock.

She felt his fingers there first, just because. She whined, clenching involuntarily.

“Goddammit, Oakley,” she groaned.

She heard him laugh again, and the head of his cock on her slit. He entered her slowly, so that she could feel him opening her up, filling her. She arched her back, whimpering, as he bottomed out with a grunt. He ground against her, shifting inside her, and then pulled completely out, and back in, a quick thrust. And again, and again, slowly and surely and without any bloody mercy.

“Oh my god…” she breathed, hot waves climbing up her back and pulsing in her groin.

And he went harder, making her feel it. Every forceful thrust echoed in her clit. She braced herself on the headboard, to hold her body in place and be able to feel the full brunt of his fucking, slow, deep and hard.

“Is that good?” he muttered, panting.

“What do you think…” she grumbled.

“Tell me… Tell me-… how much you-… you like it…”

She huffed a laugh. This kid…! 

“Oh for god’s sake…” she muttered, between pantings and huffs of pleasure. You know, why the hell not. “Do you want me to talk…?” she said, with his thrusts rocking her back and forth.

“Fuck, yeah…” Huffing, huffing. “I mean, please…”

Another chuckle, as he started to fuck faster. She crumbled on her front.

“Oh god, Oakley…” she moaned. “Oakley… Oh yes, yes, yes… Fuck I love this, oh… So fucking good… Yes, go faster… Oh my god… That’s it, that’s it, harder, oh god… Oh my fucking god, Oakley…”

He was huffing and puffing and grunting with the effort, as he fucked her hard and fast, short, sharp thrusts, the friction relentless, building up the storm of sensation in her cunt. She fucking loved this, to feel him on top like that, plundering her, her whole body rocking with his thrusts, and all she could do was take it, and moan her pleasure. 

She propped herself on her elbows again, just to vary the angle a bit. She tilted her hips up even more, lewdly exposed. He started to circle and grind his hips, doing new, wonderful things to her very swollen g-spot.

“You like it?” he mumbled, short of breath.

“You’re a pain in the…” she was saying, when he started to go a bit faster. “Oh my ever-living mother of…”

He laughed, breathy, panting. He sounded so joyful, so bloody happy with himself. I fucking love you, you knucklehead, she thought, as he merrily carried on creaming her to the consistence of a smooth vichyssoise, and she moaned and cursed and blasphemed her way through it.

He slowed down then, panting hard, and stopped.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said, as he pulled out, breathing hard.

She turned around and took in that beautiful face, flushed with the effort, glinting with sweat, his playful, pink tongue licking his lips. 

“Lie down on your back,” she said.

He obeyed without any more prompting. She straddled him, his cock so hard and her cunt so wet, it slid in without a hand guiding it. She rolled her hips, feeling the pressure inside, tantalising. His hands were on her hips, his eyes on her body, on her breasts, one hand there, one thumb. She bent forward, he lifted his thighs. She started to fuck herself on him, he started to thrust up. Small, quick motions, quicker, quicker, rutting like dogs, seeking the friction, desperate, artless, almost dirty. His hands were hovering on her hips, not making contact so as not to hinder the movement. The frown on his brow deepened, he licked his lips. She may have seen more beautiful things in her life, but right now she could not think of any.

“Fuck…” she gasped. She leaned closer to kiss him, as they kept rutting.

But she was not nineteen, and this was exhausting. She could not keep it up. She stopped, panting hard.

“Ask me what I want,” said Oakley, short of breath as well.

She smiled, drowsy.

“What do you want?”

He lowered his voice to a hot, mellow purr.

“I want to make you come.”

Following his nudges and directions, she laid on her back, spread her legs wide, exposing her clit. He entered her again, propped on one stretched arm, fucking quick and hard. He sucked his fingertips, and put them to work on her clit. She felt the mounting sensation like a rush of boiling blood bursting in.

“Oh my god…” she moaned. “God…” 

Her eyes were heavy with the building pleasure. She kept them open though, to watch him watching her. His lids were fluttering too, his mouth gaping, that scrunch on his nose as he got closer and closer himself.

“Is it good?” he panted. “Do you like that?”

“Oh my god, Oakley, don’t stop…” she whimpered, one hand around his neck, the other on the hand he had on her clit. “Just like that, don’t stop… Oakley, Oakley…”

“Fuck,” he grunted. “Oh fuck, fuck…”

“Fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming…” She threw her head back as her orgasm surged, making her clench tight. She heard him whimper.

He kept working her clit until she became oversensitive and pushed his hand away, breathing heavily, shuddering with the aftershocks. She opened her eyes to his pained, strained expression. He was on the verge.

“Can I keep going?” he asked.

She nodded, circling her hips in response. He grabbed her thighs to push her knees up, opening her even more, for a deeper hit. He went for it, short, fast thrusts. His moans started to shudder, they became whimpers.

“Ah, fuck…” he gasped, “fuuuuck…” 

His whole body jolted with it as he came, still thrusting to wring out all the pleasure from it. She didn’t take her eyes off his face. She knew she would want to remember it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Oakley, I was feeling kinda pressured after the last 2 chapters. It did feel like I had peaked with those, and I doubt I could top that.
> 
> So just like Oakley, I've had to relax, try to take the pressure off, and just have fun. I hope it was still, uh, enjoyable.
> 
>  
> 
> (Oh, and Jack calls Oakley "Tom" like they sometimes do in the movie, but it's vehemently NOT because I find it hot to suddenly imagine Tom instead of his character there, not at all, who do you take me for?!)
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, by the way, make sure you let me know about typos and spelling and "wtf is this English?!" situations, they annoy me A LOT.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a pleasure, but all things must come to an end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Writernotwaiting for the beta. Many hilarious (and a tiny bit embarrassing) pronoun inversions were avoided thanks to you, among other things.

 

“Hmmm Oakley…”

“Are you awake yet?”

On their side, foetal position. He was spooning her. A featherlight brush of fingers on her labia. Tickles... His cock was hard and twitching, trapped between his legs and her butt. They had been at it until the small hours (not so small, come to think of it) and her mind felt sluggish, her eyes heavy as lead.

“It’s early…” she mumbled. “Go back to sleep…”

“Come on, please,” he rumbled, kissing her shoulder, another tickle between her thighs. “We don’t have much time. I still need to pack…”

Oh, bollocks. She remembered now. _Bollocks_.

She twisted to face him, her lips may have trembled. He smiled, his eyes puffy from sleep, one hand on her boob, and kissed her. She grabbed the back of his neck, and for a second she told herself, “Mine. I’m not giving him back.” With a sudden urgency, even though her eyes still refused to open any more than a slit, she reached for his cock and parted her thighs to welcome it.

“No, wait wait wait,” he said. He pushed her onto her back and climbed on top of her. He smirked. “I want to savour this.”

She felt herself clenching with that eyefuck he speared her with, sighed as he went for her breasts. She arched her back and neck as he sucked the flesh into his mouth. Much too intense, almost uncomfortable, but his cock was tugging against her. Wrapping her legs around him, and weaving her fingers in his curls, she made an inventory. This I will miss so much, she thought, feeling the depression behind his neck, the first nubs of his spine. And this — his shoulders, flesh here and bone there, and those freckles. And this too, god, _this_ … — his hard jaw as his mouth worked her nipples, his neck. This — his hand, she covered it with her hand. He was pumping his hips, pressing against her. If she raised her head a bit, she could see his butt clenching, the soft golden curve of his back, lean muscles tensing. She was pushing her hips up to get some pressure from the weight of his body. And _ah_ , this... — he kissed her deeply again, as he slid one finger inside her. She clenched to increase the sensation, his tongue stroking hers. Two fingers, now fucking, now hooking and pressing inside. He sucked her neck hard, making her arch into it, insistent. He wanted to brand her.

“Oakley…” Shivers down her spine. She grabbed his hand, urging him to fuck her faster.

When his mouth moved on to kiss her ear, she pushed him to roll them over. She was fully awake now, and thirsty as fuck, and this was the last time, and she had a very long checklist to go through. She was like a little girl in a candy shop, she didn’t know where to start. His expression was amused, but that scrunch in his brow and his breathing told her the anticipation he felt. Well, she would not be the only one branded here today. She dived for his neck and sucked the taut, smooth flesh, and felt him thrust up, his hands raking down her back all the way to her arse. That gasp, that groan. His nipples next, lapping first, then sharpening her tongue to a point. Strangled whimpers from his end, as his fingers sunk into her buttocks, and his calves trapped hers. She propped herself on her elbows and let her tits rub on his smooth skin, the dusting of hair on his chest. His jaw was unhinged, and he was looking down, licking his lips at the sight, eyes wild and bright when their nipples connected. It was more the idea than the feel that was a turn on, but it was enough to make him grab her face and pull her down for a deep, thorough kiss.

She was feeling his cock with one hand.

“Oh please, please…” he begged, as he very, very gently coaxed her downwards.

As if she needed coaxing. She climbed down the bed and settled between his thighs to take his cock in her mouth.

“Oh, yes…” he sighed.  

She tightened her mouth around the shaft, tongue rubbing on the underside. She felt the spurt of pre-cum hit her tongue, just at the same time as his fingers wove in her hair. She was toying with his balls with one hand, feeling his stomach with the other, the inside of his thighs. The taste of him, sea and musk, so intense that morning, after fucking late into the night. 

He was getting close. She was going to stop anyway, but he gently pushed her off before she did. He dragged her up to kiss her, and then further up, manoeuvring her so that she was straddling his stomach. He pulled her closer to him - he wanted her tits to dangle right on his mouth. He was cupping them and thumbing the nipples, rolling them in his hands, having his fun. Even more than the feel of it, it was his lust and his delight in her body that was sending heat waves rippling under her skin. Propped on her elbows, she crawled up the bed, and held her crotch hovering one inch over his face. She soon felt his tongue, his nose, his lips, that hum. 

“Ah…”

His finger entered her slowly again from the back. His tongue and nose felt so intense like this, she shuddered at every brush. It began to build up. He was pumping his finger faster, his tongue had found a comfortable rhythm and was flicking and circling. She was trying to keep still, but she was feeling oh so greedy.

“Do you want to come like this?” he whispered, right by her flesh.

“I want to come on your cock,” she said.

He laughed, the bastard, and slapped her butt. She unmounted him, and he held her face down as she was, propped on her elbows, arse in the air. 

“Stay like this.” He pushed her front down, exposing more of her. 

He reached for a condom, her heart was pounding with anticipation. She held that position, offering herself like a bitch in heat.

“What a sight,” he said. And then his tongue on her again, his fingers.

“Oh, Holy Mary…” He was pushing his tongue into her cunt. Nothing but the tip. It was both delicious and bloody torture… “Oakley please fuck me now or so help me I…”

As she had been saying that, he had positioned himself between her legs, his rock hard cock at the entrance of her cunt. One strong shove, all the way in.

“Goodness…” she said, voice strangled. 

The bastard laughed again. And began to fuck in short, quick, shallow thrusts, hands on her hips, gripping tight, pulling her backwards in time to meet his cock.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh…”

“Like this? …You… like it… like this?” he was panting. His control was a thing of beauty, he was like a metronome. 

She was rocking to and fro, sobbing into to pillow. 

“You want… to hear me say… how fucking good… you are… don’t you?” she choked out.

“Well it doesn’t… it doesn’t hurt…” he panted.

She buried her forehead in the pillow, clenched the sheets, and sobbed.

“You’re good… Oh god, so good. So good. Oakley, Oakley…”

“Fuck, yes… Want it… harder? Ask me… ask me…”

“Harder, Oakley… fuck me harder…”

He obeyed, slower thrusts, still as constant, still as relentless, much deeper, and each and every one of them echoing in her clit. They squeezed tiny strangled moans out of her. He moved his hands to her tits. God, he was tireless, what an Olympian. 

His moans, his groans, his gasps. His sounds were just as beautiful as his face and his body. He was getting close. Two weeks ago, he would have just pushed on. Now he slowed down, and stopped, grinding inside her still, feeling her tits, taking his time. When he began again, having cooled down enough to keep going a bit longer, he went for something much slower and stronger, burying himself deep and rolling his hips. He raked his fingers down her back.

“Oh god, Oakley…” That had actually been more a groan than anything else. We made a man out of this boy after all, she thought, as his hands returned to her breasts and felt them, firm but not rough, demanding but sensual, trying to give pleasure as much as take it.

“Do you… want to come… like this?” he said, as he pumped a bit faster.

“Nuh-huh…” she made herself say. “I want to see your face.”

“Hmmm…” A few more deep thrusts, a bit of grinding, and he pulled out. He was panting, from his efforts and from the high revvs he was being kept on.

She rolled on her back and called him with open arms, and open legs. He plunged in for a kiss, that iron rod his cock was at the moment slipping in without any manual direction. They kissed messily and moistly as he began to move again. She brought her knees up, her hands on that hard, clenching butt. 

“Oh, yes…” he groaned, low and breathy, and began to pump faster. He twisted and pulled apart a bit to try and kiss her boobs, pushing them up with one hand to make them meet his mouth. She clawed her fingers in his curls again, arching her back to help. 

He propped himself up on his hands so that he could fuck harder and faster. The new angle did wonderful things to her cunt, but it also meant she got to see that body in full glory, stomach rippling, shoulders bulging, clavicles sharp, his cock slipping in and out of her, his face. God, that face.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he breathed, when she went to lick her fingers. “I’ll finish you.”

Helping herself to a feel of his arms, back, arse, hips, hair, she felt him and she watched him. He watched him go for it as it really started to build up. Faster, faster, losing pace and picking it back up, his face scrunching, his jaw hanging. He said her name, in shuddery, breathy whimpers. And he started to fall apart, his hips stuttered, his back shook up.

“Ah…” he gasped. “Ah…” 

Grinding his hips, he wrung all he could out of his orgasm, panting hard. That drowsy, contented smile that she returned, staring right at each other’s eyes. _How I adore you, sweet boy..._

“Stay.” He pulled out, discarded the condom, kneeled on the rug. She crawled down the mattress until her thighs were on his shoulders, and she propped herself on her elbows to see. 

He applied his mouth, gentle laps on her clit. She jolted. After being pleasured very near to completion from inside, this change of focus felt… fucking incredible. And he could have made her come so fast, so easily, but guess what, he wanted to drag it out. Soft brushes of his tongue now, letting her cool down a bit, but not too much. Oh, what an apt pupil he was, she thought, as one hand crept up her body for her tit, what a fucking pro. He was working her with patience, care and attention, one eye on her expressions, two ears on the sounds he was wringing out of her, letting it guide him. 

“God, Oakley… you’re fucking ruining me…” she admitted, because why the hell not. 

And that smug smirk on him, without stopping his ministrations, oh, that was worth some praise. And the long suck on her clit that followed as he slipped two fingers in were worth it too.

“Ah fuck, fuuuck…” she whimpered.

His tongue, hardened now, flicking on her clit, as his fingers fucked in and out.

“Oh my fffff…”

Three fingers, constant, slow, hard shoves, his tongue flicking faster now. She grabbed his curls tight as it began.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh please, please, Oakley, oh god, faster, faster…”

She was seeing sparks. She arched from the bed with a long, desperate moan, as she orgasmed from the bottom of her fucking soul, or thereabouts.

He stopped his tongue but worked his fingers in and out a bit longer, until he was sure she was spent. When he looked down and saw his face, mouth shining with spit and her juices, and that fucking smirk, well, let’s just say you could have stuck a “the end” sign here, and it couldn’t have been any happier.

 

He collapsed by her side and they both laid there, panting. 

“Not too bad?” he said. "Did I pass my finals?"

She poked his side. He chuckled, and she thought about the things this boy did to her with his voice alone.

They rested in silence for some time. Reality was creeping in, and her thoughts were becoming far too glum and vulnerable to share. 

“I should get a move on,” he said. But move, he did not. 

She half turned to see him, all that flesh and skin, bones and sinews and muscle, what a purebred he was. She had an almost unstoppable urge to start spewing stupid things. _Almost_ unstoppable. They were running freely in her mind. _Will you remember me. Will you think about me sometimes. Has it meant anything to you. Would you tell me if it had. Do you know I’ll never forget you. Do you know I’ll never get over you completely._ She wished she could unscrew her heart and stow it away somewhere where she wouldn’t have to feel it, while the worst of these emotions withered to something… drier, flatter, something she could handle more easily. Press it between two heavy art books, have a look at it when the colours have fainted and only a pale shadow of what it once was is left.

“I really should get going,” he said again. This time, however, he did get up, very slowly. He picked up his clothes and put them on with sluggish, distracted movements, his gaze lost into space. He stood there for a moment, doing every single button up. Well, he was not in a rush, and he looked affected, and she wasn’t sure whether that made it better or worse. When he leaned over to kiss her, he closed his eyes, and he lingered. _Oh, just carve my heart out and take it, it will be more expedient_. At the door, he stopped again and turned, with a sad smile. The rising sun, right there.

“See you at breakfast, maybe?” he said.

She nodded, without a word. She didn’t trust her voice.

He smiled again before shutting the door. Charming fucker. Go break more hearts, all the hearts. You’re worth it. You've earned it.

 

She rolled on her side, and felt his half of the bed. It was still warm, and it smelled of him. She touched his pillow. Would Valentina mind a lot if she took the linens home with her? Ah, silly, silly girl. (But you would, wouldn't you?)

Well, then, so the story ends. She was grateful that she had been granted one last night to do it right. Instead of anger, bitterness, disappointment and reproach, she felt a sweet melancholy, a soft sadness, a pungent yearning there was no avoiding, and had to be endured until it yielded to something less urgent, less desperate. Except for her cunt, which had been fucked pretty much to smithereens, nothing was sore, nothing hurt. She was grateful for the memories. She would miss him, that’s all. She would miss him like a teenager misses the first summer fling, but she had no regrets. 

What a holiday.

 

________

 

 

The bags were in the boot, full to capacity, the car groaning unhappily when they forced the door shut. She had gone to see them off. She found herself whirled in a passing cloud of goodbyes.

“Ciao, cara. Muah muah. Enjoy the rest of your week.”

“See you when you get back. I still owe you that book we talked about…”

“Don’t eat everything Valentina feeds you. She thinks food is the cure of all ills…”

“Don’t forget to give my best to Cosimo…”

“We absolutely must do this again next summer…”

And then they were all packed away in the car, and only Oakley remained. He cut a gaunt, lonesome figure in the mid morning light. They both put on a tiny grin.

“Well,” he said. “It’s been… an education.”

She laughed. 

He looked hesitant, quick expressions flicking on his face.

“Well, then. I guess I’ll… see you around?” he said.

She nodded, making a conscious effort to keep that smile on, although it hurt. He leaned over to kiss her cheek. She could not help herself, she closed her eyes, and breathed in for one last taste of his scent. 

“Bye,” he whispered. And walked away.

“Bye, Oakley,” she muttered to herself, as she made her way back to the house. Her throat was burning and she was going to make a fool out of herself.

 

 

A few steps away, she heard a muffled, “bollocks to it.” And then a loud,

“Hey!”

She turned. Oakley was trotting towards her. He stopped right next to her, shifting his weight from one feet to the other, his expression pleading, his mouth open as if trying to push his words out. Her heart was pounding in her chest. He looked so young.

He tried. He tried. 

“You still owe me,” he said. He was short of breath, but it could not be from the trot.

“That’s true,” she said.

“And… I remember you said something about- about… toys?”

She pursed her mouth, trying to reign in a smile that was threatening to flood her face.

“I did.”

He was smiling broadly now, hopeful.

“I still have so much to learn, don’t I?” he said.

“Oh, yes,” she nodded, mock-serious.

“So…”

“So…?” You’re going to have to say it, boy.

“You’re coming back to England soon, right?”

She shrugged.

“Well, when you do…” he stuttered, “you could… I mean, _we_ could… I mean, if you want…”

The engine was running. She looked away.

“Won’t people talk?” she said. That was mean, but hell, at the time it _had_ hurt.

He stared at her intently, fiercely.

“Let them," he said.

She had to smile. How could she not. 

How nice it would be to just say, _yes, fuck it, let’s go for it_. It was easy enough for him, wasn’t it? What did he have to lose? But her? One doesn’t bounce back just like that at her age… What a stupid way to ruin something perfect, asking for an encore. Oh woman, don’t be greedy, quit while you’re ahead, take the lovely memories and run.

But those puppy eyes, those bloody eyebrows. And that hollow at the base of her neck... If she put an ice cube there, would it pool and drip down his chest, raising goosebumps all the way down to his…? So many things still to do. So much to learn. And not just him.

“I still don’t want to be your girlfriend,” she said.

“Oh.” His brow scrunched up. “Right.” He looked devastated.

“I simply can’t see myself going out with you,” she said. “I’d feel ridiculous.”

“Yeah. Ok. I get it.” Look at those slumped shoulders, that face, the perfect downward curve of his lips, and god, those eyebrows had absolutely no chill.

“So, not your girlfriend," she said. "How about your lover?”

He looked up, and a smirk broke on his lips. 

She had made up her mind. Sure, this story may burn me out to a cinder, she thought, but isn't it a beautiful thing to go down in flames? Besides, fortune favours the brave...

“Lover,” he said. “I like the sound of that.” A cocked eyebrow, smug and smooth again, and dangerously sexy.

“Alright then,” she said, her heart beating faster with that look in his eyes, lusty and thirsty and all for _her_.

“Oh, wait,” he said, and helped himself to her phone, in the back pocket of her jeans. He fiddled with it a bit, and R2D2 whistled from his cargo pants - he had just sent himself a message, the cheeky bugger. “Gotcha,” a broad grin.

When he leaned closer to kiss her this time, it was on the lips. 

“See you,” she said, as he started to back away.

He grinned, wagged his phone in the air before stuffing it again into his knapsack pockets.

“You bet,” he said.

The car sped away. His hand outside the window seemed to want to catch the wind.

 

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

The empty house had the feel of an ancient ruin about it, rust-red brick and tile, cypresses and pines, the lonely quietness. Wind and dust agreed with the gentle melancholy of finished things that hanged in the air. In spite of the heat and the sun, still blaring in a clean, cobalt blue sky, it felt as if Oakley had taken the summer away with him, and autumn had begun to claim the place. But as she floated on her back on the pool, wind whistling in her ears, she felt a pull of blood inside, an excitement about things to come, a bit like when, as a little girl, she would be looking forwards to the beginning of the new school year. It was an emotion she had not experienced in a very, very long time.

 

 

 

That night, her phone tinkled with a text.

 

_“Wt r u dng?”_

 

It was Oakley. Her stomach did a tumble. Oh dear, she was fifteen again.

_“Reading in bed”_

 

_“Have u fckd Cosimo yet?”_

 

>:(

 

XD

 

She shook her head. That kid.

 

“Wt r u wearing?”

 

Oh gods.

“ _A dress”_

 

_“Which 1?”_

 

 

“ _The red one”_

 

“ _Photo?”_

 

 

She had butterflies in her belly. She thought about it for all of four seconds. Then she took the photo and sent it, before she came to her senses.

 

_"Take it off & send me another_

 

_“Oakley!”_

 

_“I can hear you say that <3 “_

_“Please”_

_“Please”_

_“I’ll send u 1 of me”_

_O:-)_

_;-)_

 

Gracious, woman. The thought occurred that she was probably (very very likely) way too bloody old for this crap. Then again, wasn't she too old to give a flying fuck? Where did it say that foolishness came with an expiration date.

_"Where are you?"_

 

_“My room. Alone. No clothes.”_

 

She laughed, and imagined it. She was feeling all the more silly because, first and foremost, she was feeling shy and insecure. And that was what did it. Insecure? You just wrenched this Adonis off the paws of a throng of young Italian beauties who pulled all the stops to get him, and you’ve managed to fucking _keep_ him, some-bloody-how. He wants to see you naked, and you get self-conscious? Oh, for god’s sake. She took the dress off, and tried to relax, and not to obsess over the soft rolls of her belly or… or anything at all, and shot. Then checked, and tried again. And then tried a few more times, while her phone went off again and again, as he texted hurrying her up. It wasn’t easy, but she got a photo she wasn’t completely unhappy with (on her side, her tits looked bigger and rounder like that, her waist curvier, her legs longer), and with a deep breath for courage, she pressed _send_.

 

_@_@_

 

She laughed. And after a second, bing! his photo. She opened the file, and sighed in painful yearning. He was lying on his back for a zenital shot, showing his top half, down to just where his pubes got thicker. He was squinting, with either an adorable attempt at a smoulder, or in concentration to get the shot right. She bit her lip, as the butterflies all went to her throat, perhaps to try and steal a peek as well.

 _“More,”_ she texted.

_"Wt u want 2 c?”_

 

_“Your arse.”_

 

_“Ok but u snd me 1 of ur boobs”_

 

They applied themselves. She was feeling pretty excited, and so very naughty, as she sat up and reached to undo her bra. No, wait. She pushed the lacy cups down and pulled her boobs out, left them bulging there, looking plump. Her nipples were hard.

Tink! Biting her lip, she opened the image she had just received. He was lying partially on his side, looking to the objective, one leg folded, those perfect, perfect globes. Like a sexy pin-up. She was tempted to make it her screensaver.

 _“I want to bite them,_ ” she typed.

 

“;-) _Now u_ ”

 

She sent it, pulse rushing.

 

“ _I wnt 2 put them in my mouth_ ”

 

Tingles, oh the tingles, descending from her middle down her thighs.

“ _What else?_ ”

 

“ _Squeeze them_ ”

 

She put her hand on her breast.

“ _I’m doing it_.”

There was a pause.

 

“ _Im so hard. Im touching my cock_ ”

 

She was panting. She was flicking a thumb on her nipple. She didn’t usually do it to herself, but he did. She licked her lips. And she pressed “call”.

“ _Hey_ ,” his voice. “ _Can’t live one day without me, eh?”_

“I can’t type with wet fingers, rather” she said, teasing. They weren’t wet yet.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, sounding a bit hoarse. “ _So right now you’re actually…_ ”

“What do you want me to do?”

“ _God_ …” His breathing, so close to the speaker. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine he was there, right by her ear. “ _I want to hear you moan. Make yourself moan._ ”

Her cunt clenched tight, throbbing hot. 

“How?”

 _“Lick your fingers. Suck them_.”

She did.

_“Like it was my cock. Let me hear it.”_

Oh, she was so goddamn proud of him right now. She did her best. It must not have been too bad, he was panting.

“ _Now, put them inside… inside you. Fuck yourself. I want to hear it._ ”

She did. It must be sexier to him than it was to her. She would be teaching him soon that she preferred to start with her clit, and then, when she had that going, proceed with the cunt. But the noises were audible enough, and as she took a metaphorical step back and watched herself doing that, and imagined that randy nineteen-year-old at the other end of the line, feeling himself, that gorgeous cock hard and pulsing for her… She fucked harder.

She stopped when she heard his voice, to put the phone back on her ear.

“Pardon?”

“ _I said I’m so fucking horny…_ ” he breathed. “ _Touch your clit. Keep the phone, I want to hear you.”_

She circled her fingers on her clit, slowly at first. She was breathing harder, shuddering, puffy exhales.

“ _Yeah… fuck yeah…_ ” he was saying.

“Are you touching your cock?”

“ _Yeah_.”

“I want you to finger yourself. You still have that lube?”

A gasp. 

“ _Yeah_.”

“Will you do it?”

A pause.

“ _…Yeah, ok. Hang on._ ”

Some rustling, what sounded like a drawer sliding open and shut. Some wet noises.

“ _Ugh, cold,_ ” he said. Then he held his breath.

“Go slow.”

“ _Yeah_.” A shuddery exhale. _“Ow. Burns a bit._ ”

“Your prostate. You know where it is?”

“ _Hang on._ ”

She gave him some time.

“ _Ah_ ,” he breathed. “ _Ah. …Yes.”_  

His breathing became short and rushed. It broke into a whimper. She felt a hot, deep throb, and clenched so tight, and started circling her clit again.

“ _You touching your… your tits?_ ” he breathed.

“Can’t do my clit, my tits and hold the phone at the same time,” she said, her voice strained.

“ _It’s a predicament,_ ” he chuckled, breathy. “ _Ah. …Ah… Fuck, why didn’t I… do this before?_ ”

“Because you… must have… thought it was… gay,” she panted, pressure building down below.

“ _Probably_ ,” he chuckled. “ _Well, gay or whatever… this is so fucking good,_ ” he said. “ _Ah, fuck. I want to jerk off. Can I?_ ”

“Impatient,” she said. “Yeah, ok. …Tell me what you’re doing…”

“ _God I’m so hard, I’m so hard. I’m stroking it, I’m milking the head and I… Ah… Are you close?_ ”

She was biting her lip.

“Yeah…” she whimpered. “Oakley… what will you do to me… when you see me?”

“ _God… I’m going to bend you over,”_ he choked out. Wet, urgent noises in the background. “ _I’m going to fuck you nice and slow… You’ll be so wet… And begging me… You’ll say my name… Ah, god… Ah… Fuck… You’ll ask me to fuck you harder…”_

She was moaning, her breath catching.

“Oh my god… Oakley I’m coming… I’m coming… Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…!” She moaned all through the peak of the climax, hearing him at the same time.

 _“Ah, fuuuuuuck…_ ” he groaned. “ _Fuck… oh… fuck…_ ” He was panting now. “ _Oh god…_ ”

She kept the phone close to her ear as he recovered, drinking in those sounds.

“ _Fuck, what a mess_ ,” he chuckled, still short of breath. “ _That was hot.”_

“Bit too rushed. We can do better,” she said.

He laughed, a sexy, dozy purr. With that sound alone, if he was here, she would be ready for another round. 

“ _I’m here to learn,_ ” he said.

There was a pause.

“ _Talk tomorrow?_ ” he said.

“Ok.”

“ _Be good._ ”

“Ok.”

“ _Night-night._ ”

“Bye.”

“ _Bye_.”

“Bye.”

“ _You going to hang up or what?_ ” he said.

She chuckled.

“Good night, Oakley.”

“ _Good night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. Or anyone. You’re mine._ ”

Gasp. The hell had that come from.

“ _Uh, bye._ ” Now he did hang up.

 

She laid belly up, her heart racing again. He imagined him in his bedroom, panicking over what she might be thinking. She could not leave it like that, and risk having another day like yesterday. No, no, no, please, let’s keep this nice and easy, ok? But she needed to be careful what she said next. Time was running, and every second that passed made his outburst more dramatic. Think, woman, think. Something light, untroubled, that gets his mind of it. What? Oh, wait. Eureka.

She texted.

" _We're going to need some toys._ "

 

He didn’t reply for a while.

 

_"Can u gt any where u r?”_

 

" _Not for me, melon, for you_."

 

A long, long pause.

 

 

“ _Wt kind of toys?_ ”

 

“ _A small vibrator to start with. And we’ll go from there._ ”

 

Another very long pause.

 

_“I got a hard-on”_

 

She laughed out loud. Oh, Oakley.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful support and comments and reblogs and pokes to me to get the chapters out. You're all wonderful and so encouraging and I love you all. The Hiddleston fandom is a great fucking fandom. <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm incredifishface on Tumblr, in case you want to say hi!


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